


future full of yesterdays

by fliptomybside



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: Niall studies astrophysics, Harry studies Niall.





	future full of yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this months and months and months ago, then put it on hold, then was like, hey, I should finish it for big bang! Aaaaand now we're here. I could not have written it without [Mary](http://mhmwhatchasayy.tumblr.com), who I emailed the first 10k SIX MONTHS AGO, who has patiently held my hand and told me over and over again that everything was going to be okay, who helped me work through a million stunted plot points and was never like, Maddie, you're crazy, even though I am totally crazy. This would not be half of what it is without you and I can't possibly thank you enough. Thanks to [Hannah](http://harrybasquiat.tumblr.com) for who listened to me talk about this endlessly and offered suggestions and thoughts that helped make everything fall into place. Sasha is my void sister and was also subjected to me whining about this too many times (love you). [Nikki](http://measureyourself.tumblr.com) made an amaaaaazing playlist that you can and should listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/nikkisofiaa/playlist/45i0G3LOnZ8XK1l6FP1ofS). I knew we were mfeo when she was like, Ever Since New York BELONGS on this. [Christie](http://penny-hartzs.tumblr.com) is my long-suffering partner in crime and always talks me down off the ledge. Please know that every time I write something she's been listening to me complain about it 24/7. I'm sure I'm forgetting someone so I apologize in advance. Beta-ed by Mary so all remaining mistakes are mine, title from It by Dr. Dog, please (PLEASE) don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

All libraries are musty, as it turns out. Even nice, fancy libraries at expensive schools like NYU. Niall sniffles and digs into his backpack for another tissue. There’s just one left, the last in a crumpled pack at the very bottom, crushed underneath textbooks that give Niall more headaches than he bargained for. When he blows his nose, a girl in the study corral closest to the circulation desk pokes her head up and glares at him.

Freshman, Niall thinks, and he shrugs and mouths sorry, in her direction. It doesn’t soften her expression, but she eventually goes back to her books. He wonders what she’s studying, if the panic of falling behind has set in yet, if that’s why she’s in Bobst at 12:30 in the morning, even though the year’s just started. Niall lets his eyes slide out of focus, the glow of the computer screen in front of him keeping him away for the time being. It figures that he’d be stuck with the shit overnight shift even though he’s a senior. Everyone fights over library jobs. They’re prime real estate in terms of student employment. Minimal work and the opportunity to put in serious studying time. It’s hard to focus tonight, though. He should try to cram in some extra problem sets, because he knows that Quantum Mechanics is going to take away many nights he might’ve gone out to a bar with Ed.

It’s hard to think about that now, though, when Niall’s eyelids are slipping closed in the relative quiet. The library’s the perfect temperature, an escape from the late summer heat of New York. It’s not too crowded, the majority of the student body not too worried about failing yet. There’s no quiet crying or loud sighing, just the quiet clack of keys and occasional turning of textbook pages. So it’s justified that Niall jumps when a hand grasps his shoulder, grip firm and heavy through Niall’s thin t-shirt.

“Fucking hell, mate!” he whispers harshly, spinning around in his chair and earning himself several glares this time.

Firm grip is smirking at him, dimpled and curly haired and not apologetic in the slightest, and Niall definitely ignores the way his stomach swoops.

“‘m Harry,” he says, and Niall’s surprised at his accent, isn’t used to hearing many people besides Ed who sound like someone close to home. Three years have him used to the flat vowels and nasally cadence of the city, and he loves it, but hearing Harry speak gives him a twinge of homesickness.

“You’re not supposed to be on this side of the desk,” Niall says dumbly, still staring at up at Harry. His jeans are too tight to be comfortable, especially in August, even if they are indoors. Not that Niall’s looking. He’s not.

“Sure I am,” Harry says, and he grins at Niall and flops down in the squeaky chair next to him like it’s where he belongs. Niall’s pretty sure it’s not where he belongs, but he admittedly only looks for his own name on the schedule. “And the polite thing to do is tell me your name in return.”

“Uh,” Niall starts, tearing his eyes away from Harry and back at the syllabus he’s got balanced on the keyboard in front of him, because as distracting as Harry’s presence is, Niall really does have to save all of his energy and concentration for quantum mech. “‘m Niall,” he finishes, hoping that they can end this conversation here.

“I’ve been trying to get a job in the library for two years, so I’m a bit excited, Niall.”

Niall pointedly doesn’t look up, just nods his head slightly in acknowledgement. At least Harry’s lowered his voice, and when Niall does glance out at the sea of study corrals, no one’s looking at them anymore.

“Have you been working here very long?”

Harry’s whispering now, but he’s still impossible to ignore, voice deep and raspy and achingly familiar, even though they’ve just met.

“’S my fourth year,” Niall grits out, trying to focus and get through the calendar and figure out just how badly this class is going to kill him.

“Senior, then? How’d you swing this freshman year?”

Harry doesn’t seem to get that the whole point of this job is to use it to study. He must be in an easy major, or he’s just one of those people who’s impervious to stress.

“Work study. Mate, not to be rude, but the best part of this job is that it practically forces you to sit here and study, so,” Niall trails off.

Harry’s quiet for the first time since flopping down next to him, and when Niall glances in his direction, Harry’s looking at him pensively, slouched in the chair that squeaks when you breathe too heavily, curls tumbling down his shoulders and arms crossed. He looks like the worst kind of distraction, everything Niall doesn’t need when he’s got the hardest semester and an uncertain future in front of him.

“What year are you, then?”

Harry smirks at him when Niall asks, like he’s won something, and Niall digs his fingernails into his palm and swivels his chair to face him. It’s still August. He’s got time. Not much, but one shift of not studying won’t ruin the semester.

“Junior. Probably going to end up getting my degree in either history or poli sci,” Harry whispers, and Niall feels the clench of stress at the base of his neck just hearing Harry’s nonchalance.

“How d’ya not know at this point?”

Niall tries to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but he’s not sure he succeeds, because Harry’s smirk turns into a full blown grin, and he huffs out a laugh as he lurches forward, dragging the chair with him. His knee knocks into Niall’s and when he flinches away, Harry just inches forward so their knees are touching again.

“There’s a surprising amount of overlap, and I haven’t quite come to terms with the idea of law school yet.”

“Don’t have much time left to decide, should probably get on that.”

He rolls his chair back an inch so Harry’s knee isn’t pressed against his anymore. The syllabus for quantum mechanics is even less interesting now, and Niall feels the slight tug of panic that comes with the inevitable feeling of falling behind.

“You can’t possibly have an assignment already,” Harry whispers, lurching close enough to Niall that he can feel Harry’s breath on his neck.

“Some of us have to work to stay ahead, believe it or not,” Niall bites out, and Harry just chuckles again, the sound making Niall’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

Harry rolls back, chair squeaking, and after a minute, Niall settles into the quiet, eyes focusing back in on the syllabus that’s at least twenty pages too long. It’s short lived, though, because Harry squeaks his way back and slides the syllabus right out of his hands.

“Harry!” Niall’s edging towards his normal speaking voice, and that freshman girl is glaring at him, but Niall can see the rest of his quiet nights studying getting interrupted exactly like this if he doesn’t put a stop to it soon.

“Shhh,” Harry shushes him, looking intently down at Niall’s syllabus. Niall heaves a deep breath, glares back at freshman, and sinks down in his chair to wait it out.

“Shit, Niall. You’re a genius,” Harry whispers, looking at up at him before he hands it back.

Niall can’t help but laugh as he takes the syllabus.

“Not hardly, ’s why I have to study so much,” he says. “Astrophysics is no joke.”

“Shit,” Harry swears again. “Haven’t taken a math class since sixth form, and hope I never have to again, to be honest.”

Niall shrugs, though privately he wishes he could focus a bit more on space and a bit less on math.

“You get used to it, after a while.”

“Makes law school seem like a breeze all of a sudden,” Harry says, grinning at him again. It’s instinct when Niall smiles back, and fifteen minutes ago he was annoyed, but Harry’s easy smiles are chipping away at his reserve.

“You seem like the type for that,” Niall says, meeting Harry’s gaze. They’ve inched closer again, and Niall can feel the heat radiating off of him in the cool of the library.

“Yeah? What type is that?”

“Like the sound of your own voice, seems like,” Niall says quietly, struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice at Harry’s outraged expression.

They both look up when the girl closest to them slams her textbook shut and grumbles her way out of the library, shooting death glares at them on her way out. It’s not funny, at least not this funny, Niall knows, but Harry’s laughing and sliding right out of the squeaky chair and onto the floor, eyes all squinty, and Niall knows that he’s doomed.

It takes a good few minutes for Niall to collect himself, and even when he does, he spends the rest of the shift reading the same few sentences over and over again. There will be three cumulative exams this semester. No absences will be excused, and all three exams are weighted equally towards your final grade, which includes class participation and an independent midterm lab. It’s enough to make him clam up again, and he tries to ignore the low hum of Harry’s voice and the clack of the keyboard as he checks people out and leaves Niall to stew in the thought that this is the semester that he’s truly going to go belly up.

By the time 2:30 rolls around, Niall’s jaw aches and his shoulders are up around his neck, but at least he’s managed to make his way through the syllabus. He still has to work out a schedule, divvy up practice problems and get a jump on reading the too expensive textbook, but he doesn’t have class Thursdays, so he can at least leave that for tomorrow. His eyes are gritty when he zips up his backpack, and he nods at Harry before making his way outside.

It’s almost unbearably humid, a stark comparison to the central air of the library, and Niall inhales deep, tries to revel in the pollution heavy air like he used to. He thinks it smells different, even though he knows it doesn’t. It’s not novel anymore, just smells unpleasant, clogs his lungs like the cigarettes he quit two years back.

He stands there long enough, sweat starting to bead on his forehead, that Harry makes his way out. Niall gives him another smile before he starts off, the three block walk to his and Ed’s place stretching out in front of him.

“Hey! We’re coworkers now, we need to have a phone chain in place, Niall,” Harry shouts after him, and Niall rolls his eyes but waits for Harry to catch up.

Harry holds his hand out expectantly, and he’s all wide smile and dimple and Niall swallows hard because he knows this can’t end well for him. He slides his phone out of his back pocket anyway, and sets it in Harry’s waiting hand.

“Now you can reach me in case there’s an emergency,” Harry says, after carefully tapping his number in. “Text me so I have yours, okay? Libraries are serious business.”

Niall can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, and he obeys, types out ‘hey, it’s niall,’ no nonsense to save himself, and Harry grins even bigger when his own phone buzzes in his hand. He looks manic, the street light illuminating him from behind, and Niall exhales sharply and forces a smile.

“Get home safe, yeah?” Niall winces, knows he sounds like his mum, but Harry claps him on the shoulder in response before he ambles off, plaid shirt faded in the dim light. It’s too hot for long sleeves, Niall wants to shout after him, but he bites his tongue. Harry’s one of those magnetic people, he can tell. Always making you feel like the center of attention. Like every word that comes out of your mouth is one worth hanging onto. Niall’s been there before, and it’s a slippery slope.

He walks home with plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own stuck in his head, and tries to tell himself this isn’t going to be a thing.

-

It’s three in the morning by the time Niall lets himself back into his and Ed’s apartment. It’s quiet except for the drone of the air conditioner, and Niall heaves a sigh of relief that it’s still working. He’ll never forget the start of sophomore year, stretched out on the sticky linoleum floor of their room, the lack of air conditioning, and the struggling fan Ed picked off the sidewalk somewhere in Brooklyn. It was two months of sweat and trying to get as naked as possible and spending as much time in the library as they could, and then Ed walking in on Ellie in his lap and turning right around and closing the door softly behind him.

This, two years later, is worlds away from that. There’s months of silence and stilted conversation and awkward apologies and Ellie slowly coming round again between then and now, and here, in the early morning, Ed and Ellie are curled up on the couch, her head in his lap and his hand tangled in her hair, their faces lit up by the street lights outside.

They’re hard to look at, still. Niall creeps by them as quietly as he can, towards the narrow hall that houses his and Ed’s rooms. When he closes his door behind him, he leans back against it and slides down until he’s crouched on the floor, lets his head fall back and exhales sharply.

He feels guilty even now. He used to think it would fade. When Ed got back from winter break that year and just pulled him into a hug, all scratchy stubble and flannel and body heat, like Niall’d done penance enough, hiding out and sleeping in the library more often than not. When they got back together, and Ellie smiled at him from across the table in the dining hall. But Niall still feels like walking on eggshells, like the three of them are a house of cards and he’s about to cave in.

It’s not—it’s not like Ellie’s still the last person he kissed. There was that tall bloke in his intro to programming class spring semester last year that he ran into at Bar 9 and kissed in the toilets before Ed’s set, and the girl he met back home, the week before he flew back to New York, at Tesco of all places. He left bruises on her hips and she sucked a second heartbeat into his neck and Niall stuffed it all down and packed it away because they were just steps in moving away from what he did.

He just doesn’t have any room for distractions, not with the GRE looming and grad school applications and passing all of his classes. It’s a good thing, Niall thinks, stretching his legs out and slumping down further against the door. No more mistakes, no more kissing his best friend’s maybe girlfriend, no more drunken hook ups in the pub toilet. He doesn’t have time for any of that.

His bed is close, his crumpled sheets shadowy in the dark, but it’s not close enough. He knows he’ll regret falling asleep against the door, that his back’ll be killing him when he wakes up. Thirty more seconds, then he’ll get up.

-

It’s the ache in his neck that wakes him up, and for the first thirty seconds of consciousness, Niall can’t move his head from side to side. He ignores the sense of foreboding in his stomach and curses himself for falling asleep a few feet from his own bed. When he stands up and stretches, lets his head fall forward, his neck cracks alarmingly loudly, but at least he can move it from side to side again. He can hear the coffee maker gurgling in the kitchen, and it’s enough to get him into the bathroom across the hall, to brush his teeth, and pad into the kitchen in bare feet and yesterday’s clothes.

Ed’s sitting on the couch, eyes bleary with sleep even though it’s half ten in the morning, a bowl of cereal balanced precariously on his lap. He’s alone, Ellie nowhere in sight, and Niall feels relieved, even thought it’s fine. Really fine, because it’s been two years and Ed and Ellie are properly serious now, and Niall’s just Niall.

“Coffee’s almost ready,” Ed says, voice still scratchy with sleep. Niall smiles in thanks, not awake enough yet for words.

The linoleum is cool under his feet as he walks into the kitchenette, pulls down a mug for Ed and for himself, and hisses when he spills a bit on himself on his way back to the couch.

Ed makes grabby hands for it right away, and Niall huffs out a laugh when he takes the mug and nearly upends his cereal in the process.

“You’re a god among men, Nialler,” Ed says after the first sip, eyes blissfully closed.

“Pretty low standards, then.”

Niall sits down carefully on the opposite end of the couch, curling his hands around his mug of coffee. His neck still feels sore, and he knows he needs to get moving, shower and work out his studying schedule for the semester, but his limbs feel heavy and the last thing he wants to do is get up.

Ed pops the TV on, the same old 12” Niall brought from home freshman year. It’s seen better days, the duct tape holding the upper right corner together from the fall it took when they got too into a competitive ping pong game last year. It’s easy to let the low drone of the news lull him back to sleep, and Niall only wakes up again when Ed smacks his cheek.

“What the fuck,” Niall spits out, groping the arm of the couch and blinking blearily up at Ed. He’s smiling widely, of course, and all he does is laugh when Niall kicks out at him.

“Talking in your sleep again, mate. ‘M going to class then meeting El for lunch, if you wanna join.”

Niall rubs the sleep out of his eyes and grabs the half full mug of coffee from the table that Ed must’ve rescued from his hands. He downs it in one swallow, wincing at how cold it’s gone.

“Might do, yeah? Text me where you’re at and I’ll meet up with you if I can get some shit done.”

Ed nods and heads out with a wave, the door swinging quietly shut behind him. Niall breathes in harshly through his nose before he pushes himself up off the couch and stumbles back towards his room. A shower. That’ll help. Like a fresh start to the day.

When he checks his phone before heading for the bathroom, it’s lit up with texts, all from Harry. Niall hesitates for a minute, just stares down at the screen. Harry Styles. he’s put himself in Niall’s phone as, pretentious, inexplicable period and all. Niall’d bet he’s an english minor.

‘just wondering, what’s the policy on eating during our shifts?’ the first reads.

‘sorry, i know i said i needed your number for emergencies.’

Then, ‘but i’m grocery shopping and i need to know how many bananas i should buy’.

Niall rolls his eyes at the ceiling and bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing, even though he’s alone.

‘d’you really want to be responsible for making the whole first floor of bobst smell like bananas ?’ he types out before locking his phone and tossing it on the bed. Shower. Right.

-

The face that peers back at him in the mirror post-shower already looks like shit, and the semester’s hardly started. Niall grimaces, poking at the spot that’s formed on his chin overnight. His dark circles are a bit unflattering, and he needs a shave, but he can probably get away with it for another day.

By the time he’s dressed and en route to the Starbucks down the block, Harry texts him back, his phone buzzing in his pocket. When he swipes open the message, it’s just a picture of Harry with a banana frown. Niall doesn’t even bother to hide his smile, and he almost trips over the woman in front of him. He tries to smile at her in apology, but she just glares at him over her shoulder and speeds up.

It’s past eleven when Niall finally shoulders his way inside the Starbucks. He sends off a quick apology to Ed, declining his invitation to lunch, even though he knows he should be putting in an effort. Knows that Ed certainly has.

He orders a venti English Breakfast, partly because it’s not gingerbread latte season yet, and partly because it tastes like homesickness, and he misses that feeling, oddly enough. It’s all different now. New York isn’t as flashy as it used to be. It’s tired and downtown Manhattan is embedded in his brain. Niall knows that it’s only his perception of it that’s changed, not the city itself, but the effect is the same. It’s a bit dirty, everyone’s always in a hurry, and no one cares about social niceties. There’s still an empty seat by the window, the lunch rush not quite started yet, and Niall sinks down on the narrow stool and pries his binder and textbook out of his backpack.

The tea burns his throat on the way down, but it wakes him up, and he gets to work organizing his calendar for the month. It’s easy for Ed to scoff at it, but nothing comes easy for Niall. It’s like banging his head against a wall sometimes, or like trying to learn something that’s written in a foreign language without being fluent. He slips his headphones in, though, and drowns out the chatter around him.

-

Someone grabs his shoulder and he jumps, knocking his now empty cup of tea over.

“Figured we’d find you here,” Ed says. Niall blinks and looks down at his phone. It’s past one now, and the lunch rush has come and gone.

“Sorry,” Niall says, voice rough with disuse. Ed slips onto the stool next to him, and Ellie makes her way over, clutching three drinks. She hands one to Niall before she sits down on his other side. He holds onto it like a lifeline, and takes a long sip, burning his throat again.

“Loves of my life, you two are,” he says, once he feels halfway human again. He was productive, at least, almost made up for the work he didn’t get done the night before.

“You’re never allowed to replace us,” Ellie says, nudging his arm. She’s smiling at him, face soft when he looks over at her. It’s mostly easy to make small talk again. The elephant in the room has shrunk, still tripping them up every once in a while, but largely avoidable. It’s nice to take a break, anyway. He zones in and out of the conversation, Ed saying something about his stat professor clearing his throat over two hundred times during a fifty minute lecture, and Ellie reaching behind Niall’s back to smack him.

She still wears the same perfume, and it washes over Niall and uproots him, brings him straight back to the crick in his neck from falling asleep in the study corral that no one ever checked on the third floor of the library. It might be over, they all might’ve moved on, but they did it without him.

“Couldn’t get anyone else to put up with me even if I wanted to ditch,” Niall says, too late, but Ed groans at him anyway.

“You’ve got to drop the self pity before we get out of this hell hole, Ni,” Ed says, sucking down the rest of his drink. “Can’t let that show in your interviews.”

It’s Niall’s turn to groan then, and when he puts his head down on his notes, Ellie rubs his back gently, like she can touch away all of the hoops he has to jump through between now and February.

“You working tonight? Or can you drag yourself way from all this,” Ed waves in the direction of Niall’s books, “and stop by the open mic?”

He shouldn’t, is the thing. He’s setting a dangerous precedent for the semester already, just small slips here and there, giving in to distractions. It’ll only lead to falling behind when it counts, Niall knows. But it is early, and he slept late this morning so he’s bound to be up late, anyway. It won’t ruin everything, probably.

“Bar 9?” he asks, and it’s worth it when a smile creeps onto Ed’s face as he gets up.

“’s the only place that’ll let me play at this point.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Niall says, shoving after Ed as he and Ellie get up.

“Don’t forget, all right? I’ll text you a reminder,” Ed shouts as they head out the door. Ed flicks the glass right in front of him as they walk by, hand in hand, and Niall’s totally the outsider looking in, or the insider looking out, in this case, whatever. It’s fine. Zero distractions is what he needs.

-

He’s running late to Ed’s set, naturally. It’s easy to get wrapped up in everything when he’s left to his own devices. He feels the tug of guilty in his gut, but he’s got a carefully planned study schedule spanning the rest of the semester tucked away in his backpack, and he can cling to that tomorrow morning when he wakes up with an inevitable hangover.

By the time he pushes his way inside, Ed’s already started his set. Niall elbows his way over to the bar, and a few minutes later, he’s got a pint of Guinness in his hand, and the first sip makes all of the tension bleed out of him.

Ed’s still warming up the crowd, wending his way through a Third Eye Blind cover, because it might not be 2003, but it’s a bar in New York City that’s full of college kids, so Jumper is still relevant. Niall settles in at the bar, swiveling around on his stool so Ed’s in his line of vision. Third Eye Blind transitions into Wheatus and Teenage Dirtbag, and then the first notes of Kiss Me hit Niall’s ears. He remembers listening to Ed write it through the paper thin walls of their apartment, his voice low and clear. Oh no, my heart’s against your chest, your lips pressed in my neck and the faint strum of his guitar. Wooing the love of his life all over again, with Niall in the next room, bed empty and sheets rumpled.

He chugs the rest of his pint and sets his glass on the bar, watches as the crowd sways to the lilt of Ed’s voice. It’s hard to even imagine gutting himself like Ed does. Maybe gutting isn’t the right word, Niall thinks. But—putting himself out there like that seems unimaginable, even now. Especially now. There’s a lone whoop as Ed moves into the bridge, and Niall feels like everything’s closing in on him, so he pushes his way back outside, hoping that the humidity softens everything.

It’s suffocating in a completely different way outside, and Niall inhales deep and presses his back against the brick exterior. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the insides of his eyelids for a minute, all blissful black. When he opens them again, Louis is next to him, a cigarette dangling from his right hand.

“All right, lad?”

Louis grins lazily at him and sucks in a long drag from the cigarette, and Niall quit, he really did, but in this moment, he’d kill for a pack. He shrugs in response instead of asking for one, his mum shouting about lung cancer last summer echoing through his head.

“Can’t complain yet. How’s New York in the summer?”

Louis takes another drag and Niall’s lungs hurt just looking at him. Louis fingernails are bitten to the quick and Niall can’t make himself look away.

“Smells fucking awful, and it’s almost as expensive as flying home,” he says, leaning back against the wall and looking at Niall appraisingly.

Niall forces out a laugh and pulls his eyes away from Louis’ hands.

“Sounds about right, then,” he says after a second. Louis just hums, and Niall has a million questions on the tip of his tongue. What’s it like, to go a year without seeing your family, and don’t you miss El, and is she still your girl, but they all get stuck, and Niall just rides out the silence.

Louis starts in on another cigarette just as the door bangs open, a crowd of people spilling out, just on the right side of drunk, if their laughter is any indication. Ed stumbles out from the middle of them all, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, guitar case in hand.

“Spot me a cigarette, yeah?” He says, and Louis just smirks at him and wrestles his lighter and the pack out from his too tight jeans pocket before tossing it in Ed’s direction. Ed fumbles it, and Niall watches as he juggles everything before digging out a cigarette.

“Light me up, Nialler,” Ed mumbles around the cigarette, and Niall glares at him before taking the lighter and holding it up so Ed can lean into it.

“Gonna fuck up your vocal chords with all that,” Niall bites out, relaxing back against the wall.

“Sound like Maura, mate,” Ed laughs, blowing smoke in Niall’s direction. “‘sides, I saw you sneak in late, so you owe me.”

Niall can feel himself flushing slightly, and he runs his fingers through his hair. He winces at how sweaty it is.

“You know me, get caught up in things too easily. Had my phone on silent.”

“Only gonna get worse from here on out, innit? Won’t really miss the grind,” Ed says, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his foot. “Ready to head out? Wouldn’t mind an early night.”

Niall snorts at that, but nods. Time is relative, he guesses, but midnight feels impossibly late with the whole semester stretching out in front of him.

“Night, Louis,” Niall says, and Ed waves goodbye as Louis pushes himself off the wall and makes to head inside.

“Got a real lax landlord this semester, can stop by and hotbox my bathroom any time, lads,” he grins at them, and ducks back inside with a salute.

-

The apartment is stifling when they get back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ed swears, tossing his guitar case on the couch. Niall privately agrees. All he wants is a cold shower, to scrape the grime and smoke off of his skin.

“All the money we pay, you’d think they’d at least have working central air,” Ed grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket.

“They’re definitely going to ignore that work order until Monday at least,” Niall says, watching as Ed flicks on the overhead light and glares at the screen of his phone.

“Remember two years back, when they wouldn’t come out unless it was 85 degrees? Took fuckin’ forever to get them to believe us,” Ed says.

Niall feels a headache coming on just thinking about it, and a bead of sweat slides down his forehead and into his eye. The glamorous life, he thinks, pulling his own phone out and glancing through his texts. Several from Ed, telling him he’s going to be late. One from Louis, just now, about how they should light up tomorrow.

Harry hasn’t sent anything else since the banana earlier. Niall hesitates for a second. It doesn’t require a response. He and Harry aren’t even friends.

‘don’t think that face’ll work on anyone,’ he types out. He hits send before he can second guess himself, then powers off his phone.

“You want first shower?”

Ed’s made his way to the couch now, no doubt contaminating it with the smell of sweat and the bar. He shakes his head, not even bothering to open his eyes

“Tomorrow,” he rasps. “Too hot to move.”

“Suit yourself,” Niall says, and kicks his shoes off before heading in the direction of the bathroom.

 -

The water’s icy cold, at least. Niall feels filthy, so much so that standing under the spray must wash away an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to turn the water off, lets his fingers get prune and leans against the tile. He stands there long enough that it gets skin warm, runs his hand down his chest until it’s resting at the base of his dick. It’s fucked up to think about his friends like this, He knows. But it’s easy to work himself up thinking of the way Louis’ lips curled around his cigarette and the way his calloused fingers would feel on Niall’s dick. He thumbs under the head, biting his lip to keep the gasps from escaping. His face burns as his hand speeds up, imagines Louis cornering him outside the back door of Bar 9, his stubble scratching against Niall’s skin, his lips hollowing around him, blue eyes watering and staring up at Niall from his knees

That’s what does it. Niall comes despite the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, like it’s being pulled out of him, cock jerking as he comes all over his fist, dripping onto the floor of the shower. He tugs at himself until he’s wincing with oversensitivity and all the evidence of what he just did has been washed down the drain.

He’s still breathing hard when he turns the water off. He almost expects to look different, I just jerked off thinking about my friend written all over his face, but when he looks in the mirror, it’s the same stubble, the same hair with dark roots plastered to his forehead. He tears his eyes away from his reflection and makes a mental note to shave tomorrow, yes, really this time.

Ed’s passed out on the couch, shoes still on and forehead shiny with sweat when Niall passes the couch again. He’s quiet, getting a glass out of the lone cabinet about the sink for water, and Ed doesn’t stir as he makes his way back to his room.

It’s too hot to even think about wearing anything but pants to bed. Niall doesn’t want anything touching his skin, even, grimaces at the scratchiness of his sheets against his skin. He starfishes out on the narrow mattress. Even his limbs touching feels like too much. Levitation, he thinks. That’s what would solve this. That and working air conditioning. Both prospects seem equally impossible at one am in a stuffy apartment.

Ed starts to snore down the hall, and Niall tries to focus on his own breathing.

-

The air hasn’t been fixed when Niall wakes up. His skin is uncomfortably sticky, and he groans when he chugs the half a glass of water next to his bed. Even lukewarm it feels good going down. The prospect of getting up is unappealing, even though Niall knows moving somewhere, anywhere, where the temperature is below 85 is going to improve his mood.

He can hear the low hum of the shower across the hall as he powers his phone back on. There’s a single text from Harry, ‘i’ll have you know that i’m very ap-peel-ing,’ it reads, and Niall switches over to his email in lieu of responding. He’s got a few readings for his sociology course, and this week’s set of practice problems to tackle, and both of those things require getting up. Niall pointedly doesn’t look at the library schedule to see if Harry’s on tonight, because it doesn’t matter.

-

By the time Niall stumbles in to Starbucks, Louis is already on his way out, venti cup in hand.

“Can’t believe I beat you here,” Louis says, not even pausing, off on whatever mission he has today.

“Air con is out again,” Niall calls over his shoulder. “Heat did me in.”

He doesn’t get a response, Louis already halfway down the block by the time the door swings shut behind him. It’s all right, anyway, the memory of getting off to Louis on his knees still too fresh on Niall’s mind for him to want to spend a few hours with Louis at his side, poking away at his reserve both literally and figuratively.

The barista smiles at him when he gets to the register. She’s reaching for English Breakfast before he even opens his mouth, and Niall’s struck with the familiarity of it all. He wonders when he got so tired of it as he heads to an empty table in the corner. When physics became something dreaded instead of looked forward to. When New York started to feel small instead of making him feel small.

An hour and a half into his calc III problem set has Niall changing his mind about Louis. He feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin.

‘if ya want to stop back, coffee’s on me,’ he sends off before locking his phone and stuffing it in his backpack.

He gets through one problem before he digs it back out. It’s not—he’s not looking for distractions. He knows, knows how important this semester is. He’ll just work better if someone else is there, maybe.

‘that’s the way to me heart, innit,’ is Louis’ response, and Niall feels the rock of anxiety in his stomach lighten. He slumps down in his chair and stretches his legs out under the table, feels the his spine crack lightly. His posture has well and truly gone to shit, a product of late nights hunched over his books.

It’s easier to focus back in now that he knows Louis is en route, weirdly. So much so that Louis startles him when he finally does arrive, setting another tea in front of Niall.

“Thought I was treating you?”

Louis kicks him under the table, landing one on his shin. The pain is sharp, and Louis’ laugh is bright when Niall glares at him.

“‘m taking pity on you, working too much already. Don’t get used to it though, I’m not made of money,” Louis says, settling in across from him.

“I got your next two, then,” Niall says, and Louis rests his feet on top of Niall’s under the table. Niall doesn’t flinch back, even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to back down. Instead, he shudders out a breath, hopes that Louis doesn’t notice, and gets back to his work.

It’s an hour before either of them speak again, Louis breaking the silence. Niall’s hand is starting to cramp up, and he’s got five pages of practice problems in various stages of completion in front of him.

“When do you reckon Ed’s going to propose, then?”

The question gives Niall pause, not because it’s one he’s considered all that recently, but because he hasn’t. He wonders when he became so unaware of the state of Ed and Ellie’s relationship with each other, wonders if he’s just been consumed by his relationship with them to the point that he’s missed the inevitable next step.

“Uh,” Niall says, picking at his cuticles, wondering how to say ‘yeah, not sure mate, been to focused on how I kissed Ed’s apparently soon to be fiancee a few years back, to be honest.’

Louis leans forward and puts his phone aside.

“Really, mate? Pretty sure Ed’s two seconds away from ring shopping. Don’t you live together?”

Niall frowns at him across the table.

“Haven’t seen him in three months, have I? Anyway, their relationship isn’t usually the center of our conversations.”

Niall knows he sounds defensive. He’s not sure how much of the story Louis got from Ed, if he got any at all. It’s not something that he and Ed talk about much, so he can’t really imagine Ed bringing it up with anyone else.

Louis shrugs, and looks at him appraisingly over his cup of coffee.

“Would’ve pegged you for his best man, is all,” Louis says, and Niall feels the sharp sting of guilt in his gut. Two years ago, he would’ve agreed. Now, it’s still a thing that sits between them. They talk, and they’re friends, but it’s just—it’s still there, hasn’t disappeared just because Niall wants it to.

“Ah, well, he hasn’t asked me to go ring shopping with him as of yet,” Niall says finally, picking up his pen again. Freshman year he thought people were knobheads for using pens to do math. Now, he sees the logic. It doesn’t smear like pencil, makes Niall hate being left handed a little bit less.

“Hmm,” Louis hums, picking up his phone again, his thumbs flying over the screen. Niall wonders if he’s texting Ed, or Eleanor.

“Why?” Niall asks, curiosity getting the better of him. He could just ask Ed, but he won’t, he knows.

Louis shrugs.

“’s make it or break it time, innit? Once he graduates, he’s either going to marry her or go back home. No way he’s not thinking about it.”

Privately, Niall wonders if Louis just trying to work out for himself what he’s going to do. El has another year after this, but Louis’ll be done.

“They seem all right, either way,” Niall says, because that seems to be true, at least.

Louis just nods, frowning down at his phone.

“Have to run, but next time it’s on you, lad,” Louis says, jostling the table as he gets up.

“You got it,” Niall says, pulling his textbook close again.

It feels dead quiet without Louis across from him, even though they’d sat in companionable silence. Niall can’t stop thinking about Ed sliding a ring on Ellie’s finger, down on one knee in their apartment. He wonders if Louis’ onto something, if he’s right, that Ed’s thinking he has to make a decision. That it’s crunch time now that they’ve only got nine odd months left.

The topic’s not off limits, really, but Niall doesn’t know how to broach it, or if he should. Sometimes it feels like he’s still punishing himself, like he doesn’t deserve to be close to either of them anymore, even though the two of them are trying to pull him back in. Sometimes figuring that out seems even more impossible than the math problems in front of him.

-

Harry’s not at the library when Niall arrives at midnight, eyes still bleary from the nap he took after dinner. He’s got himself on a one cup limit for coffee during shifts, more than that and he’ll be up the rest of the night. On nights like this though, his brain already soupy from the studying he did earlier, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough.

He settles in, pulls out his sociology textbook, cursing himself for leaving his global diversity requirement for his senior year. He looks out from the circulation desk, notes that angry freshman girl isn’t in tonight. Saturdays aren’t the most popular day to spend in the library at this hour, and only a few tables and study corrals are occupied.

When ten minutes go by and Harry doesn’t show, Niall figures that he’s not on, and tells himself firmly that he should be relieved, not disappointed. Sundays are technically supposed to be roommate days, melting into the couch and watching shitty TV, though Niall’s not sure if he wants to spend any time at all in an apartment that’s still nearly as hot as it is outside.

Niall’s mostly absorbed in his reading, basic terms that he’s going to forget the second he moves on to the next word swimming on the page in front of him when Harry makes his appearance.

He trips over, already grinning at Niall, dimple carved deep in his cheek. Niall swallows hard and smiles. Harry’s got a smoothie and a cup of coffee balanced precariously in one hand, and a textbook in the other.

Niall eyes both cups as Harry makes his way behind the desk and braces himself for the inevitable spill.

It doesn’t come, though, and Harry weaves his way over to the chair next to Niall’s, and sets the coffee down next to Niall’s textbook.

“To further endear myself to you,” he says, voice slow as he sits down and slurps at his smoothie.

“Didn’t have to do that, mate, thanks,” Niall says, chugging the rest of his first cup. Having two cups just this once won’t kill him.

“To be honest, it was a preemptive apology for the banana smoothie.”

Niall glances over at Harry, and decidedly does not get tripped up by his lips wrapped around the straw.

“’s not me you have to worry about. The freshmen are vicious, Harry,” he says, and Harry’s eyes widen, big and green and yeah, this might be a problem for Niall.

“Am I going to have to bring all of them coffee as an apology?” Harry whispers harshly, rolling his chair right up next to Niall.

“Might do,” Niall says, leaning away from Harry just enough to give himself some breathing room. He’s got another worn plaid button down on, inexplicably paired with a pair of cutoff denim shorts. It shouldn’t be appealing, and the warmth of Harry’s bare knee against his though is not something Niall should want to lean into, but it is.

“That’s a lot of coffee, not sure if I can carry that many at once.”

“Could always cut back on the bananas,” Niall says, trying to think about his reading and not the way Harry’s fingers curled around his smoothie and Niall’s coffee.

“Not possible,” Harry says, voice solemn as he rolls his chair back to reach for his textbook.

“Met with my adviser yesterday to discuss my major,” he says. “Thought it might be a good idea after the look of horror you gave me the other day.”

Niall huffs out a laugh and watches Harry page through a textbook titled The Basics of Contract Law.

“I’ll warn you, Dr. Barkun will probably be sending you a long winded thank you email. She’s been trying to get me to declare for at least a year and a half.”

“Hope I didn’t force you into anything, mate, was just surprised, is all,” Niall says.

Harry flaps his hands in Niall’s direction before sucking down some more of his smoothie.

“Was a friendly reminder that I should get my shit together, need that sometimes, you know?”

Niall shrugs and takes a sip of the coffee Harry brought. It’s strong and it burns going down and Niall could get used to this, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“What’d you decide on, then?”

Harry points to his textbook with a heavy sigh.

“Was further along in my political science and pre-law requirements, so I went with that. Not sure what you can do with history besides write papers, anyway. Least this way I’ll be able to listen to myself talk,” Harry says with a smirk, and Niall tries to fight down a blush.

“You’ve got the voice for it, at least,” Niall says, and regrets it the second the words leave his mouth, because Harry’s grin widens and he rolls closer again.

“A compliment already? I didn’t realize we were at that point in our relationship, Niall.”

“You did bring me coffee,” Niall says, resisting the urge to roll his chair over Harry’s foot. “‘m easy like that.”

Harry snorts quietly.

“Noted,” he says, and Niall pulls his pack of index cards out of his backpack and settles in, Harry warm next to him.

It’s not what he expected, quiet companionship, just like Louis. Niall figured Harry was the type to chatter through everything, barely pausing for a breath. But his brow is furrowed, tongue sticking out every time Niall looks up, apparently much more engrossed in contract law than Niall is in sociology.

They’ve got a half an hour left in the shift when Niall breaks the silence. It’s too much, the gentle clack of keys and turning of pages. Two hours reading about tribes and motherhood is too much for him, apparently.

“How’d you end up at NYU, anyway?” Niall asks, and Harry looks startled when he looks up, apparently deep in concentration.

“Sorry,” he says, voice raspy from disuse. He rubs his eyes and marks the page before closing his textbook.

“Was the only place I got in, actually. Applied to Manchester and UCL, figured London was the furthest I’d go, but NYU ended up being the only place that accepted me,” Harry says, and Niall’s stomach lurches with the familiarity of that story, because it’s his story, too.

“‘m from Chesire,” Harry adds, “so figured I’d go to Manchester, but. Landed here instead.”

“Mm,” Niall hums, pretending like he doesn’t want to jump in with his own story, with how it felt to know that traveling thousands of miles away from home was the only way he’d be able to go to university. He checks himself, now. Tells himself to listen to people, to feel them out instead of jumping in headfirst and getting himself into a mess he can’t get out of.

“What about you?” Harry asks, spinning in the chair, apparently unbothered by its constant squeaking. “How’d an irishman find himself in the wilds of Manhattan?”

Niall swallows hard. It’s not a big deal, or a deal at all. It just feels weird, telling people sometimes. Like oh, I ended up here because it was my only option, which just sounds like he’s feeling sorry for himself, when in reality he knows that so many people would kill to be in his position.

“Same as you, actually. Just thought I’d be at Trinity or University College Cork.”

Harry stops spinning at that and rolls himself closer, eyes bright and smile wide.

“’s fate, Nialler,” he says, grabbing at Niall’s wrist. Niall’s proud that he doesn’t flinch away from the contact, just stays still when Harry’s knees bump into his again. Harry’s face looks surprisingly seriously, like he actually believes it. Niall laughs, way too loud for the library, but Harry just grips his wrist tighter in response, and it’s not like there’s anyone here on a Saturday night, anyway.

“Just think, had we written different admissions essays, we might never have met,” Niall whispers, and Harry grumbles and drops his wrist.

“Fate, Niall. When I’m a wealthy lawyer ten years from now, you won’t be getting any of it with that kind of attitude.”

Niall just rolls his eyes and moves to close his textbook. He’s gotten some flashcards done, at least, but he’s not sure how he’s going to make time for this class with everything else he’s got on his plate.

Harry doesn’t seem stressed about the amount of work he did or didn’t get done, clutching his textbook in one arm and swinging the other wildly on their way out.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” Niall says when they step outside. The humidity’s as oppressive as it was when their shift started, and he groans internally at the thought of his un-air conditioned apartment.

“Anything for you,” Harry says, walking backwards so he’s looking at Niall. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Niall flips him off, grinning as they head off in opposite directions. He moves on autopilot, feet dragging through the heat. He wonders where Harry lives, if he’s got some fancy apartment, or if he’s crushed in a tiny dorm room. If he has a roommate. A girlfriend, or a boyfriend. If he’s into that kind of thing at all. If he draws everyone in like he does with Niall.

The walk home doesn’t yield any answers to those questions, and the air conditioning is still very broken when he gets upstairs. Ed’s sprawled on the floor, Ellie on the couch, both of them snoring gently. A quiet night in, then, Niall thinks as he makes his way to his room. He pointedly doesn’t think about how this is the last August that he’ll see them like this.

-

Sundays are what’s going to get him through this semester, Niall thinks. Louis’ couch is sucking him into its cushions, the air con on full blast, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to make himself get up.

Eternal Sunshine is playing on the TV. It’s one of the only DVDs Louis has, it seems like, but he gets defensive about it every time Niall brings it up. He has it memorized at this point, too many nights spent spread out on the floors of Louis’ different dorm rooms and apartments, hazy with smoke or alcohol or both, Kate Winslet breaking Jim Carrey’s heart with blue hair playing on the screen in front of him.

Louis’ fingers are carding through his hair, and Niall can only imagine what it’ll look like when he gets up. Frizzy and too blonde and sticking out in all directions. Ed’s snoring gently into the arm of the couch, Niall’s feet tucked under his legs, and he wants to freeze this moment, keep it for always. It’s like a bubble where physics isn’t a thing, where grad school doesn’t matter and the only important things are the color of Kate’s hair and the way Louis’s fingertips are scratching at his scalp.

They’ve gone through a six pack between the three of them, not nearly enough to do any kind of real damage, but Niall feels pleasantly floaty, the alcohol humming under his skin.

Louis tugs at his hair and Niall lets out a quiet gasp, can’t quite muffle it in time. For a split second, he’s afraid Louis is going to call him out, but Ed chooses that moment to wake up, stretching his legs out in front of him and groaning as his back pops.

“Time’s it?” Ed mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Niall’s phone is burning in his back pocket, but digging it out would take entirely too much effort, so he just grunts and hopes that Louis will respond instead.

It takes a minute but he does, removing his hand from Niall’s hair and gently shoving him forward so he’s sitting up on the couch instead of leaning against Louis’ stomach.

“Time for you to get a watch? Or remember to bring your phone with you?” Louis says, traipsing into the kitchenette to get his own phone.

Ed just groans in response, sliding down off the couch and onto the floor, kicking the now empty pizza box out of the way. Niall can feel the heartburn starting already.

“’s just 7,” Louis says from the kitchen, cigarette already between his lips. “‘m gonna head out for a quick smoke, if you boys want to join.”

Ed waves a hand from his place on the floor, eyes already closed again.

“I’m in,” Niall says, heaving himself up off the couch, knees cracking in protest.

Louis’ quiet when they get outside, and Niall’s surprised he’s even making an effort to smoke outside, remembers freshman year and the countless number of times they’d set off the fire alarms trying to sneak a clandestine smoke in the bathroom. He misses it, even though he knows it really only feels easy in retrospect, remembers throwing up in the bathroom before every midterm, downing mouthwash like that would help, somehow.

They’re a far cry from that, now. It’s still too hot out, the air hazy with smoke and humidity leaning against Louis’ building.

“Don’t know if I’m going to graduate on time,” Louis says, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette.

Niall’s quiet. He’s not sure what to say, if Louis wants advice, or if he just wants someone to know. Niall feels frozen, like there are a million wrong things he could say and just one right one, but he doesn’t know which is which.

“’s why I stayed in New York over the summer,” Louis says. “Tried to catch up, but it looks like I’m still going to be short a few credits.”

Niall remembers Louis being cagey at the end of last semester, mumbling about a job or something when he told them he wasn’t going back to England for the summer. Niall figured it was money, or something.

“What’re you gonna do?” Niall asks finally, watching Louis take a deep pull from his cigarette.

“Dunno,” Louis says, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. “Scholarship isn’t going to cover another year, so.”

If Louis’ nervous about it, Niall can’t tell. He looks the way he always does, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, cigarette between his fingers, hair ruffled.

“You’ll figure it out,” Niall says, and it falls flat, his words sound hollow even to his own ears. There’s not an obvious solution. Louis knows that, certainly. Has probably spent hours thinking about it before deciding to share it.

“Yeah,” Louis says, stubbing out his cigarette. “Gonna head back in, if you want to join.”

Niall shakes his head, claps Louis on the shoulder.

“Got physics and a too hot apartment to get back to.”

Louis laughs, and it sounds genuine, Niall’s ears straining for any kind of nervousness or stress.

“I’ll keep an eye on young Edward then, yeah? Can’t believe two beers did him in like this.”

Niall waits until Louis is back inside, taking the steps two at a time, before he heads off. It’s starting to get dark early now, the street lights bathing the sidewalk in cool light even though it’s not even eight yet. As used to the city as Niall is, the heat isn’t something he’ll ever be able to bear gracefully. He’s dripping by the time he gets back to his apartment, phone alerting him that it needs to cool down before he can use it again.

He doesn’t even want to turn the lights on for fear that it’ll just make the temperature inside worse, even though he knows the watts aren’t nearly enough to generate that kind of heat. Still, he navigates his way to the bathroom in the dark, only flicking the light on because he doesn’t want to slip and drown himself in the shower.

His hair’s about as bad as he thought it’d be, and he’s positive that Louis did it on purpose. He can imagine him cackling with Ed about it now, revenge for something Niall isn’t aware that he’s done, or just Louis being bored.

Niall’s not in love with Louis, or anything grandiose like that. It’s just—they’re handsy, and it’s gone on long enough that he knows it can’t be just him. He thinks it can’t be just him, anyway. But Niall’s got his hang ups and Louis’ got Eleanor and a bigger problem than he probably realizes, and it’s something that Niall’s not going to touch with a ten foot pole, even if it’s something he wants. Especially not then.

He lays down as best he can in the stall shower, lets the cool water beat down on his skin, because it’s Sunday, and he has a long week of four hour labs with too dry air and Harry and coffee and studying for the GRE between now and the next time he’ll be able to do this.

-

Four hours in mechanics lab always leaves the inside of his nose dried out. It’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings Niall’s ever experienced. He sees a lot of nosebleeds in his future, but no one else in his section seems particularly bothered by it. He’s in the process of digging a tissue out of his backpack when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s hard to wrestle it out of his pocket while hunting for a tissue, but Niall manages, small traffic jam he creates in the hall aside.

‘working on some music at home, just a heads up,’ Ed’s text reads. Niall groans internally and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. He misses the days that he and Ed would fuck around on their guitars in the afternoon. The calluses on his thumb, the way their voices fit together. He didn’t even both bringing his guitar with him this year, knew it would just be another distraction. Now, he spends most of his afternoons in class or with his head in a textbook, too many pages of problem sets in front of him to count.

He’s got a lot to get done, is the thing. Niall’s head is all over the place, still reeling with Louis’ admission, wondering if Ed knows, if he’s going to pass his next lab quiz, if he’s done enough studying for the GRE next month, if he should go back to their apartment or try to find a quiet spot in the dining hall to work through his calculations for lab.

It’s depressingly overcast when Niall finally makes his way outside, tissue crumpled in hand. It feels like he’s sweated off a layer of skin, but the grey sky’s an oppressive reminder of the weather that’s coming, all biting wind and slush. It’s hard to remember all the things he loved about New York at the beginning now that it’s coming to an end.

Niall means to head for the dining hall, maybe grab an early dinner before starting in on homework, but his feet have other ideas, apparently, and before he knows it he’s standing in front of their apartment building. Going back would just waste time at this point, he knows, and as tempting as that is, he pushes his way in the front door and trudges up the stairs anyway.

He can hear Ed’s voice and low laughter as he approaches their door, and he bites down the annoyance that bubbles up. He has those nice headphones Bobby got him before he flew back, and that white noise playlist Ellie made him during finals week last year when he was sure he was going to lose it.

Ed’s sat on the floor, leaning against the couch when Niall walks in, and Harry of all people is stretched out on the couch, all impossibly tight jeans and seemingly ever-present plaid button down.

Niall stops short for a second, staring at the two of them. Harry’s laugh turns into a cough at the sight of Niall, and Ed just grins up at him and strums his guitar as Niall shuts the door behind him.

“Fancy running into you here,” Niall says into the silence, the straps of his backpack digging uncomfortably into his shoulders. The air con is fixed, at least, the sweat from his walk starting to cool on his forehead.

Harry reaches down to yank Ed’s hair, fully recovered from his brief coughing fit, apparently. Ed squawks and tries to bat Harry’s hand away, but Harry just holds on, dimple peeking out and socked feet digging into the couch cushions.

“Why did you neglect to tell me that you lived with Niall,” he says, hand still twisted in Ed’s hair.

Ed rolls his eyes and reaches up again to get Harry’s hand out of his hair.

“Didn’t know it was such an important fact, Haz, jesus.”

“Uh,” Niall says, edging his way around the couch for the kitchen. His head feels a bit fuzzy from class, but a cup of coffee or two should have him sorted, at least enough to make some headway on these calculations.

“Niall! Join us! A three piece is better than a two piece, and we need help coming up with a name for ourselves!”

Harry’s voice is as deep as Niall remembers, slightly muted by the back of the couch.

“Not a musician, sorry to disappoint, mate,” he says, flicking on the coffee maker and pulling his favorite mug out of the cabinet. It’s a little worse for wear at this point, more chips than NYU logo, but it’s a reminder of how excited he used to be about school, about moving to New York. He remembers his mum buying it for him in the campus bookstore after his accepted students tour, still jet lagged but so excited that he stayed awake for twenty four hours straight.

“He’s lying,” Ed says, strumming the beginning of Wonderwall, prompting Harry to hum along.

“Not lying,” Niall says automatically, the coffee maker starting to gurgle and fill the apartment with the smell of Dunkin’s chocolate donut. “And you have to give Wonderwall a rest, mate. Every other song in your arsenal is better.”

Ed laughs and switches over to You’re So Vain just as the drip of the coffee wanes. There’s a thump that Niall ignores in favor of digging the last of the french vanilla creamer out of the refrigerator, which is otherwise depressingly bare.

Harry pads up behind him as he’s pouring his cup, and hops up on the cramped counter like he belongs there. Niall can’t pull his eyes away from the ripped knees of his jeans, tanned skin peeking out. He smells like he’s just rolled out of the dryer, and Niall feels self conscious, knows he probably smells like sweat and car exhaust from his walk back from lab. He braces himself for the impact of whatever’s going to come out of Harry’s mouth, and takes a fortifying sip of coffee. It clears his head immediately and it’s decidedly too hot going down, but it makes him feel a hundred times better than he did when he got home.

“Why would you lie to me, Niall?”

Harry’s swinging his legs now, heels tapping against the cabinets in time with Ed’s singing.

“‘m not lying, Ed’s the music major, not me. It was just a hobby, yeah?”

Harry hums along with Ed’s playing, low and scratchy. Niall leans against the counter and takes another sip of coffee, slower this time. He’s got a few hours of work in front of him, but now that he’s still, it’s hard to make himself move again, especially with Harry in his space.

“Sing with me,” Harry says, and he leans into Niall, sings I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee right in his ear, and all Niall can focus on his the way Harry’s breath hits his ear and how he smells like his mum’s washing, all concentrated and intense up close.

Niall freezes up, Harry still swaying into him, and forces a laugh.

“How’d you and Ed meet, anyway?” Niall deflects, and Harry takes the bait.

“World Music, it’s for my global diversity requirement. We’re partnered up, gonna make an mbira and play it for the class and all that.”

“Mm,” Niall hums, and starts to edge away from Harry’s perch on the counter.

“Heyyy,” Harry drawls, Ed still playing softly on the couch, apparently unperturbed by Harry’s absence. “Where’re you going?”

“Got about four hours of calculations in front of me, sorry, mate,” Niall says, trying to school his face into an expression of regret. Harry pouts at him, lower lip shiny in the fluorescent light of the kitchen, and Niall’s breath hitches before he makes a hasty retreat.

He can still hear Ed’s playing and the low rumble of Harry’s voice when he gets to his room, even with the door closed. He drops his backpack on the floor, puts his mug down, and pries open his aging Macbook. It runs on the slower side these days, but whenever Niall uses it he’s reminded of the hundreds of hours he put in at Tesco the summer before freshman year to save up for it.

Even Minitab loads slowly now. Niall huffs out a sigh and flips open his lab notebook. He plugs in his headphones and pulls up the white noise playlist Ellie made him last spring. It’s all waves breaking and rainstorms and it reminds him of home, how dreary it is most of the time, how he hates it when he’s there but misses it when he’s away.

-

Niall’s so deep into his analysis section that he doesn’t even hear the knock at his door. He smells Harry before he even looks up, washing powder and clean boy. He just blinks up at him for a second, eyes bleary from staring at the screen of his laptop for so long.

“What’s up,” Niall asks, pulling his headphones out. It’s dead quiet, suddenly, and for a second he and Harry just stare at each other.

Harry shrugs and leans against the door frame, surveys Niall’s admittedly unimpressive room.

“’s this where the magic happens?” Harry asks with a smirk, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Niall can feel himself blush and he hates himself for it. He rolls his eyes at Harry and Harry just grins, dimple pressed deep in his cheek. Niall wants to reach out and trace it, so he picks up his pen instead, spins it between his fingers.

“Ed fell asleep on the couch,” Harry says, apparently content to stand in Niall’s doorway.

“He does that,” Niall says, leaning back in his chair. “You can come in, if you want. It’s not much, sorry.”

Harry trips his way in and closes the door quietly behind him. Niall expects him to sink into the bean bag chair in the corner where his guitar used to sit, but he flops down on Niall’s bed instead, facedown, arms spread wide.

“Comfortable?”

“Mmph,” Harry mumbles, voice muffled by Niall’s duvet.

“I’ve got another hour or so left of work, but you’re welcome to stay.”

Harry lifts his arm enough to wave, which Niall takes as a yes. He turns back to his laptop and pops his headphones back in. It’s harder to concentrate now, knowing that Harry’s spread out on his bed. He can’t hear him or see him, but it’s still distracting, thinking about Harry laying where he does at night. It takes Niall longer than he wants to admit to refocus. Harry’s—they’re sort of friends, he guesses. More like coworkers, but either way, sort-of friends and coworkers aren’t supposed to be distracting like this.

Once he gets back into it, it’s easy to lose track of time again. Lab reports are always easiest to finish when the data is still fresh in his head, though, as annoying as they are to complete. It’s dark by the time he finishes, the only light in his room coming from his laptop screen. Niall’s eyes feel scratchy and tired when he stands up and stretches to flick on the overhead light.

Harry’s still sprawled out on his bed, stretched out on his stomach with his socked feet hanging off the end of the bed. His eyes are closed, lashes smudged against his cheek, and he might be drooling. Niall’s frozen for a minute, not sure if he should shake Harry awake or leave him be. He can hear Ed starting to move around down the hall, and his stomach growls loudly. Niall winces, but Harry doesn’t stir. He looks too peaceful to disturb, Niall decides, and he winces when his knees crack on his way out the door.

Ed’s got his head stuck in the refrigerator when Niall makes his way into the kitchen.

“Not sure what you’re hoping to find in there, but neither of us have gone grocery shopping in a week,” Niall says, and Ed stands up too fast, curses when he hits his head on the freezer.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his head and making a mess of his hair. Niall can’t help but laugh, and it feels good when the glare Ed shoots at him turns into a grin after a few seconds.

“Could just order pizza,” Niall suggests, his stomach growling again at the thought.

“We’re both gonna gain twenty pounds, it’ll be freshman year all over again.”

Niall shrugs at that and scratches his belly. Pizza every night isn’t smart. He’s still got heartburn from the Domino’s Louis ordered in the night before, but chinese sounds even worse right now, and he can’t be bothered to do a shop tonight.

Ed sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Two? Or three? Is H still here, or did he run out on me when I was sleeping?”

“Took over my bed as his own, thanks for that,” Niall says. “Best get to get three, yeah? I’ll pay my half, could eat a whole pie by myself.”

Ed’s looking at him way too closely, eyes narrowed.

“Heard you two are coworkers, yeah?”

Niall shrugs. “Work a few shifts a week together at the library. Not sure it’s a two person job, but.”

“Seems like you’re friends, too,” Ed says, pocketing his phone again. “Pizza’ll be here in ten.”

Friends is probably too strong a term, Niall thinks. Then he thinks of the way Harry’s lips looked, slightly parted, his limbs stretched across Niall’s bed. Making a place for himself in Niall’s life whether Niall wants it or not.

“Friends don’t drool on friends’ sheets, do they?”

Ed snorts out a laugh, and heads for the bathroom.

“Gonna take a shower, my wallet’s on the table. Don’t eat all of it if I’m not out before it gets here, all right?”  
“Fuck off,” Niall calls after him. He slumps down at the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes. It does feel like freshman year again, sometimes. Eating so much shitty take out that Niall’s sure grease is running through his veins, heart disease an inevitable part of his future. It’s easy, though, pretending that things can be this easy again.

Harry chooses that moment to make his way back into the kitchen, eyes puffy with sleep and hair all over the place. He blinks at Niall, like he’s not sure where he is or how he got there, and it hits Niall right in the gut, the way Harry’s lips curl up in a sleepy smile as he starts to wake up.

“Sorry,” Harry says, voice rough with sleep. “Think I drooled a bit on your covers. I can take them with me to wash, if you want.”

Niall’s shaking his head before Harry even finishes his sentence.

“No worries,” he says. He needs to do laundry, anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s trying not to think about how his bed’ll probably smell like Harry, now.

“You sure?” Harry sits down across from him, and Niall winces when the chair creaks.

“Careful, that chair’s on its last legs,” Niall says. “And Ed’s thrown up in my bed before, ‘m not bothered by a bit of drool. Needed to do laundry, anyway.”

Harry huffs out a laugh at that and props his face up in his hands.

“How long have you been mates, then?”

Harry stretches his legs out under the table, bumping Niall’s feet and then caging them in with his own. The chair protests loudly, but Harry doesn’t seem bothered.

“Got lucky, I guess. We were randomly assigned roommates freshman year, both international students, obviously. It just stuck, and here we are, lots of hangovers and vomit later.”

Harry hums approvingly. All Niall can focus on is the easy way Harry’s feet are wriggling against his.

“Ordered pizza, should be here in a few. Got one for each of us, weren’t sure how hungry you were.”

“Thank god,” Harry groans, rubbing his stomach. “The dining halls are closed and there’s no food left in my room. Haven’t been buying as many bananas after someone advised against bringing them to work.”

He glares across the table at Niall, eyes reduced to slits and brow furrowed, and Niall can’t help but laugh. Annoyance, even clearly fake annoyance, looks out of place on Harry’s face, he thinks. It only lasts for a few seconds before he breaks out in a wide smile, dimple flashing and pulling his feet back as the buzzer for the door sounds.

“I got it,” Niall starts, pushing himself up, but Harry waves him off.

“I’m the guest, Niall. Just ordering it saved me from eating my own socks, all right?”

Niall should protest more, he knows, but he’s exhausted, and it feels too good to slump back into his chair, so he doesn’t fight it. Friends pay each other back, anyway. He’s already plotting out where he’s going to get Harry a banana smoothie for the next time they work together. It’s only polite, at this point.

Harry only takes a minute, but Niall’s already drifting by the time he gets back, the hum of the shower down the hall lulling him to sleep.

“Niall, if you keep your eyes closed for much longer, I’ll eat all the pizzas myself,” Harry says, dropping the boxes on the table. Niall can tell when he sits down because the chair creaks alarmingly, but he can’t make himself open his eyes just yet.

“Get Ed from the shower,” he mumbles into the surface of the table. Lifting his head feels like too much.

“Can’t disturb a man when he’s in the shower, Niall. It’s private time, we don’t know what he’s doing in there.”

Niall just hums in response. He can hear Harry get up, opening and closing cabinets behind him, undoubtedly searching for plates.

“I was thinking about you, Styles,” Ed says, padding into the kitchen. He’s still toweling his hair off when Niall looks up. Harry’s set the table, and Ed winces when he sits down.

“H, that chair requires gentle treatment, I don’t know how you usually go about sitting on things, but brute force isn’t the way to go with this one.”

Harry barks out a laugh, loud in the quiet of the apartment, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Hope it can handle me eating an entire pizza, cos that’s what’s about to happen.”

-

Niall really doesn’t mean to eat the entire thing. Sure, he was hungry, but a whole pizza for the second day in a row is a lot, even for him.

He groans and leans back in his chair. Harry looks content, hands resting on his stomach and eyes closed. Ed just rolls his eyes at both of them and goes to stack the boxes.

“Please don’t try to stick those in the bin,” Niall says. The last thing they need is their apartment smelling like pizza and cardboard for the next week.

“Nialler,” Ed starts, and Niall heaves a sigh and gets up.

“I’ll take them out to the dumpster, then. ‘m not dealing with the smell for a week, it’ll make me sick every time I walk in here.”

“I’ll help, Nialler.”

Harry stretches in his chair, shirt riding up, disregarding all warnings, but the chair holds out. Niall swallows but he can’t quite drag his eyes away from the tanned skin of Harry’s stomach. He wonders idly if he visited somewhere sunny recently, or if he’s just naturally this golden all the time. There’s a thin trail of hair disappearing into the top of his jeans and Niall really, really needs to look away now.

He looks away, but not soon enough, because Harry’s staring right back at him, eyes wide and curious. He licks his lips and Niall’s breath stutters. He wrenches his eyes away from Harry and stands up.

Ed’s oblivious, engrossed in his phone, pizza boxes still on the counter.

“I got it, Harry. It’s a one person job. You’re the guest, anyway.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and stands, gesturing for Niall to give him some of the boxes. It’s ridiculous, Niall knows, because he’s perfectly capable of carrying three pizza boxes down to the dumpster out back. He’s not keen on one on one time with Harry at this exact moment, either, not right after he’s gotten caught staring at his stomach.

Harry doesn’t give him a choice, though, just crowds up in his space and steals the top two boxes.

“Teamwork, Niall. Makes the world go round.”

Harry’s eyes are wide and guileless, and maybe Niall wasn’t being too creepy. Maybe they can just ignore the fact that Harry caught him staring. He forces a smile, and Harry gives him a real one in return nudging his shoulder.

“Lead the way, then,” Harry says, like he knows he’s going to get his way, that Niall’s going to acquiesce. It’s a slippery slope, this. Harry’s all easy laughter and wide smiles and everything Niall can’t let himself have.

“All right,” Niall says belatedly, heading for the door.

“Don’t get lost out there,” Ed calls after them, and Niall flips him off before closing the door behind them.

“I don’t know about you, but I have an excellent sense of direction.”

Harry’s voice sounds muted in the hallway, stuffy and windowless and Niall feels embarrassed for a split second. He doesn’t know what Harry’s living situation is like, but the hallway is dim and oppressive and Niall wishes, not for the first time, that this wasn’t where he ended up.

“Think we’ll make it, Haz,” Niall says, making his way down the stairs, Harry right behind him.

“Proper friends now, aren’t we? Using nicknames is a true sign of friendship, innit?”

Niall feels himself flush again, anxiety curling in his too full stomach. Harry’s just poking fun, he knows, but he can’t tamp down the sick feeling that comes with overstepping into something that isn’t his. It’s stupid, he knows. It’s just a nickname, it’s not like he’s kissing someone he shouldn’t, or anything like that.

“Guess so,” Niall says, pushing his way outside and heading around the building to get to the dumpster.

“Still doubt that it’s fate?”

Niall tosses the box into the dumpster and holds it open for Harry. He lobs the two boxes in with the coordination of someone who’s probably never played a sport in his life, and Niall still can’t pull his eyes away from the way Harry’s muscles flex beneath his shirt.

“Not a big believer in that kind of thing, to be honest.”

Niall lets the dumpster slam shut and wipes his hands on his shirt.

“Astrophysics hasn’t opened your mind at all?”

Niall laughs, because he remembers thinking it would open doors into all kinds of thinking when he started studying it three years ago. In reality, he’s just gotten bogged down in the math of it all, lost sight of all the things he loved about it at the beginning. He’s starting to think that all of those things were just in his head, at this point. Like once you learn enough about the thing you love, it lets you down, loses all its sheen.

“Pretty much the opposite. Just a lot of math and limits, feels like.”

Harry furrows his brow as they walk back towards the front entrance.

“Don’t be so jaded, Niall, you’re not giving me much hope for my future. Or the discovery of extraterrestrial life, what’s the leading astrophysicist’s stance on that? Don’t tell me you haven’t researched it, I won’t believe you.”

Niall hasn’t thought about astrophysics in those terms in at least two years, but he remembers wondering about it, feeling excited to be getting into a field that addressed questions just like that.

“Not sure what the prevailing theory is at the moment, Haz, sorry to disappoint.”

Harry grabs his arm just as Niall goes to open the front door.

“Niall,” he says, grip tight on Niall’s arm as Niall turns around, goosebumps popping up on his skin even though it’s easily still 85 degrees out. “Look up.”

Niall does. It’s dark, now, well past eight o’clock, and it’s only going to start getting darker earlier now that they’re edging into September.

“What’m I looking for?”  
“Proof,” Harry says, letting go of Niall’s arm. He misses the contact immediately.

“Too much pollution to see much of anything, I think.”

Niall looks up again anyway. He can’t even see any stars, isn’t sure if it’s still overcast or if it is pollution masking everything.

“Just think of all the proof we might’ve missed because of people saying things exactly like that.”

When Niall looks in Harry’s direction again, Harry’s looking back at him, hands shoved in his pockets, hair frizzing at his temples.

“Maybe you should be the one studying astrophysics, then,” Niall says, breaking the silence. “Not too big a deal to switch your major at this point, right?”

Harry bites down on a smile and shakes his head, pushing Niall forward. He keeps his hands on Niall’s shoulders, a warm weight through Niall’s t shirt, and he doesn’t break away until they hit the stairs.

“Sometimes I think I got into the wrong thing,” Harry says from behind him.

“Nah,” Niall says, panting a little when they get back upstairs. “Think you’re well suited to be a lawyer, mate.”

“Maybe,” Harry says, and it’s the first time Niall’s heard any kind of hesitation from him. He’s not sure how to respond, hates how he freezes up when people need him. Like he did with Louis, who hasn’t broached the subject of being behind since.

“Haz,” he says, and when he turns around in front of the apartment door, Harry’s right behind him, breathing hard from the stairs, shirt unbuttoned far enough that Niall can see bits and pieces of tattoos.

“You’re gonna be great,” he whispers, because Harry’s so close anything more feels like too much. All Niall can think about his how close they are, how easy it would be to just sway forward, to cover Harry’s lips with his. How inadequate his words are, always, how he doesn’t know what to say, even though he should by now.

Harry doesn’t respond, just looks at him, eyes flickering down to Niall’s lips then back up to his eyes so fast that Niall isn’t sure if he imagined it or not.

“Yeah,” Harry says, finally, and he’s so close that Niall can feel his breath hitting his lips. He shuts his eyes, because this isn’t leading to anything anywhere but in his head.

When he moves to open the door, Harry doesn’t move with him. Instead, he just stands there for a minute, frozen in the hall, right in front of where Niall was a second ago. Niall reaches out and tugs at his shirt, pulling him inside even though he knows he shouldn’t.

-

Harry ends up crashing on the couch. Niall wonders if this is going to become a regular thing, if he needs to start camping out on the third floor of the library again. He did it once, he can do it again. It was unpleasant, but he’ll do what he has to to minimize the inevitable distraction that Harry poses, infiltrating his space in ways that Niall can’t let himself think about.

It takes him forever to fall asleep that night. The covers smell like Harry, and all Niall can think about is how he’s just down the hall, his hot breath on Niall’s face. His apparent belief in fate and alien life. Niall thinks the existence of aliens would be easier for him to adjust to than Harry sleeping on his couch.

-

The library’s quiet without Harry, now. He’s fifteen minutes late, and the smoothie Niall got him is sweating on the circulation desk, sitting in a puddle of water. Niall should’ve gotten napkins, but he didn’t think ahead.

After a half an hour, Niall figures that Harry must not be scheduled after all. His ears are burning, the stupid melting smoothie an obvious reminder of the fact that he should’ve checked the schedule before he bought it. Two shifts together and Niall’s already assuming they’ll always work together. Clearly not the case.

It should be easier for him to focus. He remembers how annoyed he was when Harry showed up the first night, how he was sure his guaranteed studying time would be ruined by Harry’s presence. Now, though, in his absence, Niall’s bored. He can’t make himself focus on anything, let alone sociology. The words are swimming on the page in front of him, and he finds himself looking out at the occupants of the first floor more than anything else.

There’re a few more people tonight. The further they get into the semester the more crowded it’ll be, Niall knows. He remembers being irrationally irritated freshman year when, come midterms, his usual study corral was occupied every time he tried to claim it.

It’s one thirty in the morning by the time Niall finally forces himself to get back to making flash cards. He has a quiz tomorrow, so this is something he should’ve done days ago, but better late than never. He’s absorbed enough in writing out the definition for tribe that he doesn’t notice Harry until he’s drumming his fingers on the desk in front of Niall, staring down at him with a small smile.

Niall blinks at him.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks, wondering if he should hide the now room temperature smoothie or just give it to him, unappetizing as it is by now.

Harry shrugs.

“Just checking in. Studying for more than half an hour at a time is counterproductive, you know. I figured you’d forget to take breaks without me here to remind you.”

“Distract me, you mean?”

Niall’s still debating whether or not to give Harry the smoothie when Harry leans over the desk and spies it, lips curling up in a grin.

“Niall,” he starts, zeroing in on his face. Niall can feel the red on his cheeks, and he tries to roll his eyes like it’s not a big thing. It’s not. It’s fine, Harry’s just a friend, and Niall’s just returning a favor. Not whatever Harry’s smirk is suggesting.

“Shut up,” Niall says. He hopes that Harry will take pity on him and show some mercy, but he has a sinking feeling that Harry’s not going to let it go.

“Did you bring that for me? Because you know how much I like bananas?”

Niall scowls and tries to pull his sociology textbook back towards him, hoping Harry’ll take the hint.

“You don’t even know it’s banana. Maybe it’s for me. A post-coffee boost.”

Harry just grins even wider, and Niall wants to kiss it or slap it off his face, he isn’t sure.

“It’s banana, I can smell it. Banana detector, this is,” Harry says, tapping the side of his nose before he swipes the smoothie off the desk.

Niall looks out at the library desperately, hoping that someone is irritated enough that he can kick Harry out and claim he’s being disruptive, but everyone seems blissfully unaware.

“Mmm,” Harry hums, lips wrapped around the straw. He’s staring Niall down like he’s making a point, Niall just isn’t sure what it is. He’s hard not to look at, though, lips rosy and sliding completely unnecessarily up and down the straw.

Niall forces himself to look back down at his flashcards, but the image of Harry sucking down the smoothie is burned into his brain.

“Don’t force yourself, I’m sure it’s less than appetizing by now.”

Harry’s lips make an audible pop when he releases the straw, and he reaches down to cover Niall’s textbook with his hand. Niall heaves a sigh and puts down his pen.

“Niall.”

Harry’s staring him down when he finally looks up, eyes big and earnest and ringed with dark circles. Niall wonders what he’s doing up at this hour if he’s not working.

“Harry,” Niall starts, then stops when Harry moves to cover his hand. It’s warm in the cool of the library, smooth and not at all sweaty like Niall’s is now that Harry’s touching him. “I owed you. For the coffee and that.”

Harry just rolls his eyes at him and tightens his grip on Niall’s hand.

“Bananas are rich sources of potassium and fiber, I’ll have you know. You’re basically keeping me alive right now, because my intro to contracts is killing me.”

“That what you’re doing up, then?”

Harry grimaces and pulls his hand away, rubs his eyes like he can rub away the exhaustion that’s written all over his face.

“Room felt like it was closing in on me, like. Kept staring at the ceiling and thinking it was getting closer and closer, so I went for a walk.” He shrugs and slurps at his smoothie.

“Weren’t you the one just telling me to only work half an hour at a time?”

Niall closes his textbook. Further attempts at studying are fruitless with Harry’s attention on him, he knows. He got a little bit done, at least, and it’s almost two thirty, anyway. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about this.

“I practice what I preach, Niall. Hence the walk,” Harry says, straightening up and draining the remains of the smoothie. “Probably fall asleep on my walk home at this rate.”

Niall slides his textbook into his backpack and rubber bands his flashcards. He bites his tongue against the words just waiting to slip out, I’ll walk you home, or sleep at mine, or who’d bring me coffee if you got run over by an errant late night biker, because he and Harry aren’t that kind of friends. Niall censors himself, pauses before he speaks, thinks through every word and five different ways to phrase whatever it is he has to say. He’s careful.

“Be careful, yeah? The circulation desk is a two person job, can’t do it on my own,” Niall says, finally.

Harry yawns and waves him off, eyelids drooping.

“Don’t worry, I know I’m irreplaceable,” he mumbles, turning towards the doors. Niall’s got another ten minutes and he knows he should let this go, let Harry walk out and stumble back to his room. He’d be all right, Niall knows. There’s no reason to turn into a mum about it, and, he reminds himself again, he and Harry aren’t friends like that.

“Could crash on the couch,” Niall says, his words betraying him. He can feel the blush on his cheeks the second the words leave his mouth, and he wishes there were a way he could swallow them back up. For all he knows, Harry’s place is closer to the library than his. Niall’s skin burns, and it’s quiet for a minute, Harry turning back to look at him, face droopy and soft, the most tired Niall’s ever seen him in the harsh light of the library.

“Yeah?” Harry says, biting his bottom lip until it blooms bright red. Niall swallows hard against the relief flooding his brain. He just nods, doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.

“Promise I won’t drool on it, then,” Harry says with a small smile. He stumbles into the nearest open chair, eyes already closed by the time his limbs settle.

It’s probably the longest ten minutes of Niall’s life. He checks out two people, one tiny girl who looks down the whole time and doesn’t utter a sound. She’s reading West With the Night, the library’s copy worn nearly to bits. The guy behind her is comically large in comparison, sighing and rolling his eyes, clutching a textbook on exercise science. It’s all Niall can do to drag his eyes away from Harry, long limbs sprawled out in the chair, chin resting on his chest, hair in desperate need of a wash, curls drooping under their own weight.

Niall’s out of his chair like a shot when two thirty rolls around. Normally he’d wait for whoever’s on after him, but he feels jumpy with nervous energy.

Harry’s dead to the world, lips parted and hands folded on his chest. The dark circles under his eyes mirror Niall’s own, and Niall feels bad waking him. It takes a minute, his hand too gentle on Harry’s shoulder. His eyelids start to flutter when Niall digs in, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and heaves himself out of the chair, swaying on his feet.

“All right?” Niall croaks, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. He feels like he’s back in sixth form and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. His limbs feel awkward and too big, palms sweaty. Harry grasps his shoulder and grins at him, tired and crinkly eyed and Niall feels a nervous warmth bloom in his stomach.

“Lead the way,” Harry says, hand sliding off Niall’s shoulder. Niall sucks in a deep breath and gives Harry a half smile over his shoulder as they head outside.

The buzz of New York is always louder at night than Niall expects, even now that he’s used to almost every facet of it. He has a bit of a lead on Harry, can hear the shuffle of his boots on the sidewalk behind him if he focuses hard enough. His nerves have settled in his stomach, and he imagines that he can feel the coffee burning up the lining. Fucking acid reflux, Niall thinks, and he trips as he swallows hard, Harry bumping into him softly.

Niall makes a quiet noise of surprise at the feeling of Harry pressed all down his back, warm and heavy and then gone.

“Sorry, sorry, Niall, wasn’t paying attention. Too busy looking at my feet, ’s a bad habit.”

Niall bumps Harry’s shoulder with his as they fall into step side by side.

“No worries,” Niall says after a beat. He shoves his hands into his pockets and digs his fingernails into his palms every time the fabric of Harry’s button down brushes his skin.

“How’d you swing this neighborhood?”

Harry’s looking up now, squinting at the night sky even though Niall can’t see much of anything besides the tiny squares of light from apartment windows.

“Upside of being a senior, I guess,” Niall says, swiping his ID to open the front door to their building. “Ed got a bit lucky with his housing lottery, too. Had some shit places before this, though.”

Harry groans in relief at the cool wall of air that hits when they step inside.  
“Air goes out sometimes, but it’s nice, innit,” Niall says, ignoring the elevator in favor of the stairs.

“A bit, yeah,” Harry says, breathing heavily behind Niall as they make their way up. “‘m in a double by myself at the moment, roommate dropped out at the start of term. Been waiting to get stuck with some random.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky, yeah? Get all that space to yourself for a whole year.”

Harry doesn’t respond right away, just lurches forward so he’s covering Niall’s back again, draped all over him like he’s done it a hundred times.

“Miss being around people though, you know? Gets too quiet when it’s just me, sometimes,” Harry says, his breath hot against Niall’s neck.

Niall swallows hard. “Can’t be too quiet, mate, you’re living in a college dorm. Dunno how you could get too lonely.”

It’s awkward, the short walk down the hall to his room, Harry pressed up behind him, breath hot on his neck. He smells faintly of bananas, undoubtedly thanks to the smoothie, and it’s absurd, all of it. When Niall thought about his senior year, he never pictured this, Harry crashing into his life and slotting into the empty spots like it was his due.

He pries himself away when Niall opens the door, and Niall’s secretly glad, doesn’t feel like dealing with Ed’s questions later, because he can never help himself. Niall might not talk to Ed about his relationships, but Ed still prods at him, asks about girls whose hugs linger and boys who get to close when they’re out, stares him down over mugs of coffee in the morning and grins when Niall turns red and changes the subject.

Ed’s nowhere in sight, though, the only light coming from the lone lamp balanced on a cardboard box that Niall brought from Ireland.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Niall says, watching as Harry collapses onto the couch, long legs hanging off.

“Mmph,” is all Harry says, and Niall shrugs even though he can’t see him.

“Suit yourself, then.”

He trudges down the short hall to his bedroom, dropping his backpack next to his desk with a thump that’ll probably irritate his downstairs neighbors at this hour. He flicks on his desk lamp and looks at his bed longingly. Shower, he reminds himself. Shower, then bed. He digs a t shirt and boxers out of his dresser and doesn’t let himself sit down, knows he won’t be able to get back up.

Showers usually clear his head, but tonight Niall can’t shake Harry’s presence from his brain. It’s all Harry and Louis and the quiz tomorrow in soc and how he hasn’t gotten a grade for his last lab report yet and the GRE in two weeks and it’s exhausting. He turns the knob further towards hot and resists the urge to flinch away. If he focuses on just this, the temperature of the water and how it burns on his skin, almost too much to take, he can forget about everything else.

His skin is bright red by the time he steps out of the shower, the air in the bathroom heavy with steam and the mirror completely fogged over. It’s silent without the hum of the shower, and Niall towels his hair quickly before wrapping it around his waist and bracing himself for the cool air of the rest of the apartment.

There’s no sign of life when Niall peers down the hallway before darting back into his room. He tosses his towel over the back of his desk chair and pulls on a clean shirt and boxers. It’s past three when he checks his phone, a text from Ellie saying Ed’s staying at hers lighting up the screen. Niall runs his hand through his still wet hair and tosses the phone back down on the bed. It’s too late to take anything to help him sleep, probably, but the thought of staring up at his ceiling for hours too much, so he grabs his bottle of melatonin and pads back to the kitchen.

Harry’s sprawled out on the couch exactly where Niall left him, chin resting on his chest and limbs everywhere. It can’t be comfortable, and Niall winces when he thinks about how sore Harry’s neck’ll be in the morning. He could shake him awake, adjust him so he’s not so contorted, but it feels like crossing a line in his head. Harry might’ve come home with him, he might bring him coffee and smile at him like he’s someone, but Niall still feels hesitant, like he’s reading signs into something just because he’s lonely or misses what it feels like to have someone chasing after him.

He leaves him be, curls his fingers into a fist to resist the urge to push his hair back off his forehead or worse, tuck himself into Harry’s side like he belongs there. He runs a glass of lukewarm tap water and swallows a pill. Just one. A compromise of sorts.

He stands in the middle of the kitchen for a second after he flicks the light off. The dim light from other apartments and street lights makes everything look shadowy and foreign and Niall lets it all sit, just for a minute. The quiet blanketing everything and the way Harry’s asleep on the couch like he’s done it a million times, like this is normal, like this is something Niall can have, a friendship that isn’t tied up in all the things he’s done wrong.

It usually doesn’t work, not when he’s been thinking this hard this late, but for whatever reason, Niall’s out before his head even hits the pillow. Marimba is a terrible alarm, he thinks groggily, grabbing blindly for his phone. It takes an embarrassing number of tries, but he finally succeeds in hitting snooze and buries his face back in his pillow. It smells like the Snuggle brand dryer sheets that Ed bought last week, and Niall makes a mental note to keep them stocked, because it smells warm and comforting and like home, even if he isn’t sure what home is anymore.

Marimba isn’t any less grating ten minutes later, but at least it’s grating enough that Niall pulls himself up and out of bed and stumbles for the bathroom, squinting against the sunlight flooding his room. He’s got his toothbrush in his mouth when Harry appears in the doorway, shirtless and pants less. His eyes are puffy and his hair’s going in a million different directions, and Niall shouldn’t find any of it endearing, not the way his face is bleary with sleep or the way he pushed his way into Niall’s bathroom, but there’s warmth in the pit of his stomach at the domesticity of it all.

“Bananas?” Harry croaks, sidling up to Niall and smearing toothpaste on his finger before popping it into his mouth.

It’s appalling, really, Niall thinks. The way Harry’s pushing his way into Niall’s space like it’s his right, but he’s leaning into Niall and grinning around his toothpaste-covered finger at their reflection in the mirror.

“Out of luck there, sorry Haz,” Niall says, spitting into the sink. Harry’s pouting, toothpaste at the corners of his lips when he looks back up. Niall gets caught on his tattoos, the butterfly on his stomach and the swallows at his collarbones. The ferns peeking out over his low slung boxers. Niall swallows hard at the trail of hair making its way down Harry’s lower stomach. When he looks back up, Harry’s smirking at him, like he knows. Niall just clears his throat and looks away, because he knows Harry won’t be the one to break. He also knows Harry’s perfectly aware of what he looks like. People like Harry always know, he reasons. Louis is the same, in a lot of ways. He’s sharper, more cutting than Harry is, but he’s magnetic, always catching Niall’s gaze and making it hard to look away.

“Got coffee, though, and some oranges that Ed bought. ‘f you get dressed, I won’t tell him you ate them,” Niall says, slipping behind Harry and making his way out of the bathroom that’s a bit too small for two people.

By the time he’s out and dressed himself, Harry’s peeling an orange over the kitchen sink, coffee maker gurgling quietly. He’s got his shirt back on, at least, but he’s still in just boxer briefs that leave next to nothing to the imagination. Niall pointedly swerves around him, making for the cabinet holding the few mugs that he and Ed have collected over the past few years. He pulls Ed’s monogrammed one for Harry. It’s the biggest one they have, and he usually tries to steal it for himself, but he figures he can let Harry have it this once. Just because he’s a guest, and all that. His NYU mug is just plain purple now, the logo long faded, and it feels fitting. Niall didn’t major in English for a reason, but it feels like a metaphor when he lets himself think about it, how everything is faded now. All the big realizations he thought he’d have, the plans he’d made. It’s easy to lose sight of that when you’re in it, as it turns out.

“Is the answer to the universe in your coffee cup?”

Harry’s voice breaks Niall out of his thoughts, and when he looks over at Harry, he’s leaning against the sink and has what looks like half an orange stuffed in his mouth.

“Might be, you know, it’s the last place most people would look, I think,” Niall says, grinning at the way the juice from the orange slides down Harry’s chin. The coffee maker lets out one last groan, and Niall pours them each a cup, pushes Ed’s mug in Harry’s direction.

“Sugar’s on the table and there’s milk in the fridge, if you want,” he says, grabbing the milk for himself. He slurps some coffee off the top first, black and scalding, and he winces when it goes down, burning his throat so badly he knows he’ll still feel it later. He dumps the milk in until the liquid’s threatening to spill over, then brings it up to his lips and hums with satisfaction.

“Think you’re right about the answer to the universe being in here,” Niall says, and Harry just grins and makes grabby hands for the milk. “Isn’t in my textbooks, anyway, might as well start looking elsewhere.”

Harry’s brow is furrowed as he pours milk into his mug, right up to the brim just like Niall does. He winces after he takes a giant sip.

“Too hot?”

Harry shakes his head and sticks his tongue out like a toddler, like that’ll get rid of the taste.

“Need sugar, dunno how you can drink it without.”

Niall shrugs.

“Guess it’s a family thing. Never was much for sugary drinks growing up. Brother’d take the piss out of me every time I’d try, so. Dropped that quick.”

It slips out, easy as breathing, talking about Greg. Like he’s not a heavy weight at the back of Niall’s mind, a reminder of what’s waiting for him if he ever goes back home.

“What’s he do now?” Harry asks, his lips resting on the rim of Ed’s mug.

“Hm?” Niall says, busying himself taking another sip, like he doesn’t know quite what Harry’s asking about, even though he does, can feel the tips of his ears starting to turn red.

“Your brother. Always wanted one growing up, but I’ve just got a sister. Loads smarter than me, so it was a real surprise to everyone that I got into NYU.”

“Works at my da’s butcher shop back in Ireland,” Niall says, trying to keep his voice neutral, doesn’t want to give away all the screaming fights and all the times Greg walked out the door and they weren’t sure he was going to come back.

It must work, because Harry just hums in response and slumps down at the table.

“Got class in half an hour,” he says into the table, head down but still clutching his mug of coffee.

Niall takes another sip of coffee before he answers. It’s still hot enough that it burns going down, and it wakes him up enough that he feels the weight of everything he’s not doing, standing here in the kitchen with Harry.

“You’ll have to finish your coffee first, Ed won’t take kindly to someone walking off with his mug.”

“Niall,” Harry whines, “I need it. I need it. ‘m charming, all right, Ed won’t mind.”

Niall snorts a laugh into his own mug.

“’s your funeral, mate. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Harry groans.

-

Niall doesn’t not tell him about his birthday. It just feels weird, like by telling someone his birthday is coming up, he expects them to do something, when really he doesn’t. He’d rather avoid it altogether, if he’s honest.

It comes up at Starbucks a week before. Niall’s never seen Harry at this one before, but maybe he just wasn’t looking. Not that Harry’s an easy person to miss, because he isn’t, but Niall knows he’s prone to spending more time stuck in his own head than he should.

He can’t ignore Harry’s big hand on his shoulder, though, and he jumps a little before he turns around.

“Niall,” he drawls, and Niall can’t help the slow grin that spreads across his face. It’s busy and loud like it always is, and Niall had big plans for the one small table left by the window.

“What are ya doing here?”

Harry looks mildly offended at that.

“’s a free country, Niall, I can frequent any Starbucks I like.”

He hates that Harry has the ability to make him feel flustered, but he tries to play it off, turning a bit so he doesn’t have to look him straight in the face.

“Just haven’t seen you here before, that’s all. Course you can go wherever you like,” Niall says, moving up a bit in line.

Harry follows close behind, a lazy smile on his face.

“Trying to broaden my horizons and all that. Who knows what else I’m missing? Might as well start here.”

“Here?” Niall snorts, looking out at the crowded room.

“It’s like the essence of America, innit?”

“Harry,” Niall starts. “They have these in England. I’ve been.”

Harry rolls his eyes, puts his hands back on Niall’s shoulders and pushes him forward gently. He stops just short of the girl in front of him in line, and she must feel it somehow, because she turns around to glare at him.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just a bit excited,” Harry says from behind, his voice loud in Niall’s ear. “Never been in one of these before.”

She glares harder, if possible, and turns around. Niall elbows Harry in the stomach.

“Don’t know who told your charm was legendary, but it’s not.”

“I’ll wear you down. I know how you take your coffee,” Harry says, “know your birthday’s coming up, too.”

Niall steps forward to put his order in, and ignores Harry’s statement. He can still feel Harry hovering behind him, but it’s rude not to give the barista his full attention. So he smiles at her, drags out his accent a little bit, and she flushes and smiles at him. She’s pretty. Dark hair and an even, white smile. There are circles under her eyes that say she’s a student.

A few years ago, he would’ve made some kind of move. Given her his number after a few interactions, something. He can’t imagine doing it now, though. All that crops up in his head are a million reasons why not, and he can’t find room in his life for anything other than math and physics and the library and the future that seems cloudier every day. But this is his life post-Ed and Ellie and everything, and Harry’s breathing down his neck, so he keeps moving

Harry trails behind him over to the table by the window, English Breakfast clutched in his hands. There’s really not space for more than one person, but Harry wedges himself into the chair opposite Niall’s and hooks his feet around the legs of Niall’s chair.

“Don’t wanna burst your bubble, but I came here to get some work done H,” Niall says, biting his lip at the way the nickname slips out.

Harry just grins at him, slow and lazy, and slumps down in the chair, like he’s settling in for the long haul.

“Niall,” he says, and even as close as they are, Niall can hardly hear him over the noise. “Are you trying to tell me this table isn’t big enough for the two of us?”

Niall grins despite himself and kicks out instinctively, catching Harry’s shin. His face crumples in pain for a second, but he doesn’t make any indication that he’s going to move.

“Violence is never the answer. ‘M just trying to be a good friend, I know your birthday’s tomorrow, no thanks to you.”

Niall busies himself pulling his laptop out of his backpack. It’s still warm to the touch from when it overheated in the library an hour ago.

“Hey,” Harry says, nudging Niall’s leg with his own. “Is Ed planning something? Is it a surprise?”

Niall pries his laptop open and looks at Harry. His hair’s curling in the heat, wild and going in a million different directions, and he’s staring Niall down like it’s a life or death question.

“If it was a surprise, why would I know about it? And you’d’ve just ruined it if it was, not exactly being subtle, mate,” Niall says. His laptop whirs to life again, and Niall sighs with relief.

“Ed doesn’t share anything with me, don’t think he trusts me to keep my mouth shut.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“With good reason,” he says, and Harry pushes his chair back at that, the legs of it screeching against the floor.

“Be that way, then. This is what I get for being a good friend.”

“Good friends let me do my homework in peace,” Niall says. He can already feel the headache coming on and he’s only had the excel sheet with his results open for a minute.

“Fine,” Harry huffs, and then Niall’s alone. Well, as alone as he can be in a Starbucks this crowded. He feels guilt in the pit of his stomach for a second, like maybe he pushed Harry too hard.

He lets his eyes slide out of focus, and the screen goes blurry. It’s hard to pull himself out of that kind of thing, and it’s a slippery slope, falling into all the ways he’s fucked up and gotten stuck.

-

It’s not a Friday Ed was scheduled to play, which, along with Harry’s needling, should’ve tipped him off. Niall’s been distracted lately, though, between Harry’s presence and the way Louis hasn’t texted him back and the GRE looming closer every day.

There’s a dull roar when he pushes his way in Bar Nine, and he blinks in the sudden darkness before someone barrels into him, wraps their arms around him almost too tightly. They smell like cigarettes and coffee, and it takes Niall a second to clock that it’s Louis.

“Happy birthday, fucker,” Louis says into his ear, too loud for how close he is, but Niall can’t make himself pull away.

Maybe he holds on a second too long, but Louis is grinning so wide when they pull apart that his eyes are slits, and Niall feels the knot in his stomach start to ease. He doesn’t see Eleanor, but it’s dark. And it’s early. There’s time, and where there’s Louis, El usually isn't far behind.

Ed pulls him over to the bar before he can think too much about it and presses a pint into his hand.

“On me, mate,” he says. “Happy last hurrah.”

Niall forces out a laugh. The smile on Ed’s face is genuine, wide and easy, and he pulls Niall into a one armed hug.

There’s a girl on stage tonight, blonde and coltish, and she’s got one of those earnest voices. Not spectacular, but Niall believes every word that’s coming out of her mouth. It’s mellow, and he lets himself sit back and just watch, the edge of the bar digging into his back.

Drops of Jupiter would be a tired choice from anyone else, but there’s something about her voice that sucks Niall in so much that he doesn’t notice Harry sidling up beside him.

“Hey,” Harry breathes, quiet but close enough that Niall can hear him over the last few notes of the song. Niall feels his shoulders tense at Harry’s breath against his ear, an automatic defense against leaning into him like he wants to.

“Hey, mate,” Niall says, turning to look Harry in the face. He’s sweating at the temples even though it’s finally starting to cool down.

Harry grins wide in response and pulls Niall into a hug before he can stop it.

Niall lets himself lean into it. He lets himself lean into it because it’s his birthday. Because he has another eight months on this continent and then he can leave it all behind if he fucks it up.

Harry smells like sweat and clean boy and his hair is soft and all over the place and he squeezes Niall so tightly that he loses his breath for a second.

“Happy birthday, Niall,” he says, then presses a CD to his chest, because of course Harry made him a fucking mix tape. CD, whatever.

“Saw the CD player in your apartment, so I figured you’d appreciate this. It’s carefully cultivated to maximize the effectiveness of your study breaks.”

It’s—thoughtful. More thoughtful than Niall expected, not that he spent a significant amount of time thinking about what Harry might get him for his birthday.

“Did Ed consult on this? Cause he lives there too, you know, he insists on approving all music that gets played in the flat—”

Harry’s laughing before Niall can even finish his sentence, swipes his half gone pint of Guinness off the bar and drinks it down and just grins at him.

“I’ll buy your next couple, okay,” he says, before Niall can even protest.

Harry orders shots.

“Red headed sluts, cos Ed’s here, get it? Like, I know it’s your birthday, but I can’t pass up this opportunity, yeah?”

Niall hesitates for a split second, because he knows how nights like this play out. He can hold back. Resist, stick to a few beers and escape relatively unscathed with a light buzz. Just enough to laugh a little too loudly and pull people a little too close, but not so much that he’ll be messy. Sloppy. Kiss people he shouldn’t.

He throws back the shot, because Harry’s waiting for him, grinning at him with a shot glass at his lips and Niall feels like they’re the only two people in this very crowded bar. Like if he were going to go home with anyone tonight, it’d be Harry. No question. There’s that delicious magnetic pull between them, like he couldn’t back away from this even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to, deep down. In a world where everything he’s done in the past doesn’t exist, where he doesn’t have any hang ups, where he can actually take deep breaths and laugh like a normal person.

The alcohol helps. Niall feels it in his veins already, the sloppy looseness that comes with any kind of liquor, and fuck, it’s his birthday. It’s his birthday and Harry’s in front of him, a little sweaty and flushed, grinning so wide his mouth is taking up half of his face.

“You’re buying my next couple, yeah?”

Harry throws his head back and laughs, loud and shrieky, and Niall feels himself start to smile, because he can’t not, Harry’s laugh so incongruous with his sticky slow speaking voice. Niall lunges forward and wraps Harry in a hug before he can stop himself, breathes in the smell of Harry’s shampoo and feels the nervous excitement bubble up in his stomach when Harry slings his arms around Niall’s waist.

It’s a blur after that. Harry leading Ed and Ellie and Louis in singing happy birthday, letting Harry talk him into doing pirouettes on the dance floor. Sloppy cheek kisses from everyone who’s stuck around. Everything’s hazy and warm, and Louis keeps smirking at him, arm slung easy around El’s shoulders. That answers that question, he thinks. He wonders vaguely if El knows that Louis’ fucked. It’s intoxicating, alcohol aside. Niall forgets that it’s nice to be around other people, sometimes. He gets stuck in long nights studying, not letting himself go out because school is important. And expensive. He can’t afford to fuck this up.

He stumbles back over to the bar and rests his head on it for a second. It’s inadvisable, he knows, but everything feels like too much. Too much good, because he knows these are all things he’s going to lose. Maybe not right this second, but there’s a future out there that doesn’t include any of this. No Harry keeping him company in the library, no Ed picking away at his guitar on the couch when he gets home from lab.

Harry saunters over and drapes himself across Niall’s back. It’s a welcome distraction, his body warm and heavy and overwhelming in a totally different way than the inside of Niall’s head.

“Best birthday,” he mumbles against the back of Niall’s neck.

“Mmm,” Niall hums in response, his cheek sweaty against the surface of the bar.

“Home now, c’mon,” Harry says, lips brushing against Niall’s neck. He starts tugging, arms wrapped around Niall’s waist again, and Niall groans, his stomach protesting already.

-

He doesn’t really remember how he got home. He tripped over a puppy on a sidewalk somewhere, he remembers, Harry dragging him back to apologize. The rest is blurry, though. His mouth tastes like something died in it and he’s drooled all over his pillow and he’s sweating out of his skin.

Harry’s next to him, limbs splayed out on the mattress, taking up more than his fair share of space, drooling all over Niall’s pillow, shirtless and like he belongs there.

Home means his and Ed’s, apparently. Niall’s beginning to wonder if Harry spends much time at all in his own dorm, or if he just bounces from friend to friend, edging his way into their lives and onto their beds and couches. Niall isn’t special. He’s just—a friend. He and Harry are friends, he reminds himself. He and Ed have shared a bed before, and they’ve all shared with Louis, who’s guilty of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere. Harry’s just. Harry.

Niall sits up slowly, tries to blink past the way his head’s throbbing. Harry’s dead asleep, doesn’t move at all even when Niall stands slowly. He stares down at him for a second, and he feels a bit creepy about it. Voyeuristic, kind of. But Harry’s hard not to look at, he thinks. Everyone seems to acquire a staring problem when he’s in the room.

His phone’s face down on the floor, and Niall picks it up gingerly, expecting to see a cracked screen when he turns it over.

It’s intact, though, and it lights up with a picture he doesn’t remember taking as the background. Ed and Ellie are kissing him on the cheeks, and his eyes are embarrassingly crinkled at the corners. He can see the flush of alcohol on his own skin and he groans quietly before he opens a text from Ed.

‘have a goid nijy mate dont do anyone i woukndt do,’ it says, clearly from well past drunk Ed. Niall doesn’t even want to know what he and Harry looked like, leaving together like that. He can’t remember the last time he did it in full view of everyone, took someone home with him like it was something he was allowed to do.

“Mmmmfh,” Harry moans from Niall’s bed. When Niall looks over at him, he’s got his head shoved between the wall and the mattress, curls matted with last night’s sweat.

“I’m gonna have to burn these sheets,” Niall croaks, and Harry just raises his arm enough to flip him off and buries himself deeper in Niall’s bed.

-

He jerks off to the hazy memory of Harry’s lips on his neck in the shower. He hates himself for it the whole time, can’t stop thinking about Harry unconscious on the other side of the very thin bathroom wall, but he still spills into his hand in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

He lets himself slide down the shower wall and sits on the floor for a long minute, the water pounding down on his shoulders and burning his skin, just this side of too hot. Maybe he could just. Stay in here. Let the steam from the shower cover everything up, wash away the hangover pounding at his temples.

It happens quickly. One second, Niall’s fine, just a headache and a nasty taste in his mouth, the next second he’s throwing up peach schnapps all over the floor of the shower.

“Fuck, fuck,” Niall groans, tipping over on his side. There’s barely enough room in the shower to do it, but he has to lay down. He lets the water run into his eyes and then blinks them shut against the burn.

He jerks his head up when someone starts pounding at the shower door.

“Ni? You okay? I’m coming in, can’t be responsible for you drowning in the shower,” Harry says, and he’s shoving the door open before Niall can protest.

“Noooo,” he gargles, just as Harry stumbles in and stands in front of the frosted shower door.

“No drowning on my watch, mate. Get up or I’m coming in.”

Niall groans again, lets his cheek rest against the cool of the shower floor for another second and doesn’t let himself think about how Harry’s just on the other side of the glass, and Niall’s here, naked. He thinks about the last time he cleaned in here instead. He might have to clean again, what with the vomiting and all. Or maybe he can convince Ed to do it. A birthday present, or something. It’s his fault Niall’s so hungover, anyway. His and Harry’s, who’s now tapping on the class.

He looks a bit like some kind of creature, his hair and the lines of his body distorted by the glass. Niall feels his face flush hot when he thinks about how he got off thinking about Harry’s lips on his neck ten minutes ago, and now Harry’s in this tiny bathroom with him and all of his shame.

“Harry,” he starts, peeling himself up off the floor. His knees feel shaky, and like they might give out, but he leans back against the wall for support and reaches out to shut the water off.

“Not drowning?” Harry asks, his voice loud and echoey now that the water’s off.

“Not drowning,” Niall says back, “now get out so I can get me towel and some advil, yeah?”

Harry barks out a laugh. He sounds happier than anyone has a right to after all of the shots he did the night before.

Niall waits until Harry’s gone before he pushes the shower door open. He grabs for his towel and wraps it around his waist before he goes for his toothbrush, still wincing at the leftover taste of bile in his mouth. Harry’s left the door open, unsurprisingly. Niall wonders what his flat is like. If it’s neat or messy, or if he’s gotten stuck with another roommate yet. Or if he’s just lonely, and that’s why he spends more time here than anywhere else these days.

His head’s still pounding when he pads back to his room. His bed’s been stripped, blanket folded neatly at the foot of it. Niall thinks back to telling Harry he needed to burn the sheets after last night, and his stomach roils again at the memory. It’s—he doesn’t care. Didn’t mean to make Harry feel like he had to clean up, or whatever. Niall pushes the door shut behind him and pulls his towel from around his waist to scrub at his cheeks. Like if he scrubs hard enough he can like. Go back, or undo something, or at least not feel like he’s on the verge of throwing up again.

It doesn’t work. Niall’s not sure how he long he stands there, rubbing furiously at his cheeks, and then his hair, but his skin’s bright red when he looks in his mirror. His eyes look bleary and vaguely red and the circles under his eyes are dark, dark, dark, and he really just hopes Harry’s left so he doesn’t have to face him. Because Harry always looks nice, he owns the circles under his eyes and he’s unfailingly kind, even and especially when Niall doesn’t deserve it.

Harry can’t read Niall’s mind, apparently, because he’s in the kitchen, in his tiny black boxer briefs and nothing else when Niall finally emerges from his room. The whole kitchen smells like coffee, and Niall’s stomach gives a funny lurch. He’s not sure if it’s because of Harry’s state of undress, the memory that they shared a bed, or that he’s still hungover.

“You didn’t have to strip the bed, Harry. Always do my sheets on the weekend, anyway, I was just struggling when I woke up.”

Niall digs his nails into his palms as he says it so he has something to focus on other than the long line of Harry’s back and how stilted his own voice sounds.

Harry’s smiling when he turns around, though, dimple digging into his cheek. His curls are wild around his face, and he waggles his eyebrows at Niall over his mug of coffee.

“Consider it a birthday present. Think I weirded out your neighbors in the laundry room, though. I always thought americans would be more accepting of nudity, right? But this girl looked at me like I’d mortally wounded her even though I had pants on and everything.”

Niall’s laugh bubbles out of him, and it makes his head pound, but it’s worth it for the cool relief that washes over him.

It’s exhausting, winding himself up all the time, but it’s a reflex, at this point. He’s fucked up too many times to trust himself, but Harry’s grinning across the table at him and holding out Niall’s faded NYU mug like this is all normal.

Niall focuses on the steam rising from the coffee and the ever present noise of their neighbors playing Grand Theft Auto, like if he pays attention to those things instead of the way Harry’s still smiling softly at him, this’ll be something he can keep. Like if he stays still enough, he won’t disturb any of it by breathing or existing or grabbing at things he can’t have.

“Niall,” Harry says, still holding out the mug. “Go on, ’s nice and hot. Probably won’t help your hangover, but I found your Advil, so. Think you’ll make it through.”

It is still hot, Niall realizes after taking a gulp and burning his throat. It feels good going down, though. Calms his stomach in a way that coffee normally doesn’t when he isn’t feeling well.

“Don’t know how you can drink it straight like that,” Harry winces, wrapping his fingers more tightly around his own mug. He’s using Ed’s again, Niall notes. Making a habit of it, a space for himself in their life.

Niall shrugs.

“Can get used to anything, yeah? Could never make myself get up early enough to make it the way I wanted freshman year. I had one of those machines that you could set to go off at a certain time? So I’d leave getting up until the last possible second and I’d just have to take it as is. ’s familiar, now. Like, comforting, kind of.”

“Comfort at what cost, Niall? Don’t do that to yourself when you don’t have to, you’ve got milk in, I didn’t use it all. I do like a nice fifty fifty split of milk and coffee, but I’m trying to be considerate.”

“Considerate like you were when you waltzed into the communal laundry room wearing next to nothing?”

Harry just smirks at him and hoists himself up on the counter.

“I don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, and Niall bites the inside of his cheek so Harry can’t see.

His tattoos are on full display like this, stark against his skin in the dim light from the kitchen window.

“You’re gonna be covered by the time you’re twenty five at this rate,” Niall says before his brain can catch up to his mouth.

Harry laughs and rubs at the ship tattoo on his bicep.

“It’s a slippery slope once you get started, I guess. Mum was horrified at first, hated the fact that I got one for her, but. She came around.”

Niall hums in response and tears his eyes away to stare down into his coffee. He lets his eyes slip out of focus and the quiet wash over them.

“Do you have any? Didn’t notice any last night, but I was pretty pissed, to be fair,” Harry asks.

“Nah. I’ve gone with Ed a few times. Even had a mate draw one out for me once, but I got all shaky when I got to the shop, so. Still got virgin skin.”

Harry’s looking at him speculatively when Niall looks back up.

“I don’t like that look.”

Harry blinks slowly and takes another sip.

“I’ve got my own tattoo gun, you know. Could take your virginity.”

He has a shit eating grin on his face and Niall hate him.

“Fuck off,” he says, ignoring the way his voice cracks in the middle. He forces a smile and Harry grins back even wider and shrugs.

“Just an offer. You know, if you change your mind. I’m here. I’ll be gentle.”

“Yeah, all right,” Niall says. He doesn’t let himself think about Harry looking at him last night, because there’s no point in going down that road. Niall doesn’t have the time for it, and Harry’s too much for someone like him, anyway. Niall’s a boring studious type, not—not the kind of person who draws people like Harry in.  
“Guess I’ll run and switch the wash,” Harry sighs, hopping down from the counter.

“Not gonna get dressed before you do?”

“Nah,” Harry calls back over his shoulder, padding barefoot over to the door. “Nothing to be ashamed of, remember?”

-

Niall really only means to take a 10 minute nap. Just a break while Harry’s puttering around doing the laundry, but when he wakes up it’s past three in the afternoon, and he’s got a deep ache in his neck.

“Fuck,” he croaks, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. “Harry?”

“Left about an hour ago. You tire him out?” Ed says from the kitchen over the beep of the microwave.

Niall just flips him off in response. Ed can pry all he wants, but he knows they don’t talk about this. Not that there’s anything for them to talk about, because there isn’t. He and Harry are friends, just like Ed and Harry are friends.

“Did you have a good birthday, then? A nice last hurrah before you disappear for good?”

“Couldn’t’ve asked for better,” Niall says, wincing as his neck cracks. He doesn’t even bother disputing the disappearing part, with the GRE looming.

“Good. My present’s in yours. Figured I’d wait till the party was over to give it to you.”

Ed grins at him over a bowl of ramen noodles. Niall wrinkles his nose at the smell.

“Mate, those things are going to be what kills ya,” he says, and Ed just shrugs and shoves another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

“A heavenly way to go, innit.”

Niall’s bed is neatly made when he gets to his room, and the mix CD Harry made is on his pillow with a note on top.

He feels his stomach lurch again and he wants to crawl the walls, claw his way out of his own skin, like he can run from this before it gets ripped away from him.

He feels a bit out of body, walking over, and he almost misses the record player sitting on his desk, bow on top.

Ed, he thinks. And Ellie, probably, because Ed’s dead thoughtful, but he’s shit at executing things.

He swallows hard because it’s—a lot. Niall can’t push down that nervous feeling, like they’ve gone too far and he can’t take it back, and his hands feel unsteady when he reaches for the note Harry left on his bed.

‘Happy birthday, Nialler. Thanks for brightening up the library. Xx H’

Niall shoves it under his pillow.

-

He agrees to get lunch with Ellie, just Ellie, on Tuesday. He can count on one hand the number of times they’ve been out, just the two of them, in the past two years. It was countless times before that. And it was easy, no looking over his shoulder or feeling tense about it like he is right now. It was knocking on her dorm room door, right next to his, and smiling and she just knew. He could sling his arm around her shoulders without a second thought, kiss her cheek when they were sloppy drunk, and it was all fine. He remembers telling her about back home. About his parents’ divorce and Greg’s weird manic moods, how everything was walking on eggshells and passive aggressive smiles.

Niall thought he was in love with her for a few months. Hell, more than a few months, if he’s being honest with himself. He looks out the cafe window and idly starts counting the spots of gum on the sidewalk. The memory of Ed walking in on them is still one he can’t touch. Because if he does, it’ll be new all over again, the kind of shame and hurt and confusion that’s visceral, physical, and unrelenting.

A tap on the window wrenches him out of his thoughts, and Ellie’s grinning at him through the glass when he looks up. He forces a smile back, and straightens up. Pushes himself back from the table a bit so there’s no chance that they’ll accidentally touch, because he’s not that guy. He’s not. He’s never going to fuck something up like that again, and he’ll pull out all the stops to make sure.

“Hey, you,” Ellie says, and she’s drawing him into a hug before he can side step it. Niall’s tense for a second before he relaxes into it.

Ellie smells familiar. She uses the same shampoo she did three years ago, Niall remembers it clearly, because he’d steal it at least once a week, too lazy to buy his own from the overpriced corner store a block from their dorm.

“Hey,” he says belatedly into her hair. He forces himself to pull back, puts a safe foot of space between them.

She looks the same, which shouldn’t be surprising, because Niall sees her several times a week. He spends most of their time together trying not to look at her, though, trying to stay within the boundaries he’s drawn for himself.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, aside from ordering coffee and soup.

“Hey,” Ellie says again after taking a sip. “We’re worried about you, you know? You like eat and sleep and study and that’s it. And mostly just study. You have to adjust your ratios or you’re just going to disappear.”

“‘m fine,” Niall says before burying himself in his coffee cup. “Really. Just got a lot to get done in not a lot of time. It’s normal, I’ve heard, when you’re a student.”

Ellie eyes him critically, but the arrival of their soup breaks her gaze.

“God, I dream about this pumpkin soup. I know the pumpkin thing is overdone and I’ll be sick of it by November, but it’s one of the only things I miss about New York when I’m back home.”

Niall snorts and digs into his creamy potato soup. It’s better than anything his dad makes by a long shot, and he can’t remember the last time he had a meal with his mom.

“Really? You aren’t going to miss the friendly people and the lungful of pollution you get every time you walk outside?”

“Mmm,” Ellie hums. “I like it here, but I miss home, you know? Think I needed to come here, but it made me realize that it’s not where I belong long term, I don’t think.”

Niall doesn’t say anything in response, just spoons more soup into his mouth.

“Do you think you’ll go back?”

Ellie’s looking at him, wide eyed and curious. She has soup at the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve got some,” Niall starts, and wipes at the corner of his own mouth. Ellie rolls her eyes and wipes it away with her napkin.

“Guess that’s what I get for inhaling my food, right? Spending too much time with Ed, his eating habits are rubbing off on me.”

Niall snorts.

“Just don’t start with the ramen, I swear that’s all he eats these days,” Niall says.

“So,” Ellie starts, sitting back in her chair and clutching her coffee cup. “Do you think you’ll go back?”

Niall doesn’t look at her, just focuses on scraping the last bits of soup from his bowl.

“Dunno,” he says after a minute. He doesn’t, really, and he doesn’t want to think about it, because whenever he does, it feels like he’s plastered to the ceiling of whatever room he’s in, looking down on himself.

Three years ago, he had meticulous plans. Four year, five year, ten year. Now, he’s got a mountain of debt, grades that aren’t good enough to set him apart from anyone, and no idea what options he has come May.

“Probably going to apply for some schools here and there, see who’s willing to take me.”

Ellie sets her mug down, and it’s loud even in the bustle of the cafe.

“Niall,” she says seriously, leaning across the table to stare him down. “Anyone would be lucky to have you, okay? In any capacity. All capacities.”

Niall laughs reflexively. He hates coming across as self-deprecating, because it’s shit and annoying. Laughing deflects it sometimes. Probably not as often as he wants it to, but it’s what he’s got.

“I’m serious,” she says. “Columbia would be. Harry would be, too, if you’d let him.”

Niall chokes on his own spit and coughs. Columbia feels like a fever dream at this point. He remembers obsessively planning his course of study around their astronomy and astrophysics graduate program. He’s finishing that out now, and while he’s technically on track, he feels further from it than he did then. He can’t even think about Harry, doesn’t want to know what Ed, or worse, Harry himself might’ve told her.

“I know we don’t talk about this stuff anymore, but. We could, if you wanted to. I’m your friend, too, okay? Ed and I are our own people. Neither of us hate you, and sometimes I feel like you think we do.”

“I don’t,” Niall says, biting at his cheek. His mouth tastes like coppery blood and burnt coffee. It’s aggressively unpleasant, but he’d rather focus on that than Ellie talking about the one thing they never talk about by unspoken agreement.

“You don’t what?” she presses, and Niall hates her for a second, even though it’s irrational.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm and even.

She falls back in her chair and Niall aches a little at how defeated she looks. He tries not to let himself think about the collateral damage. How Ellie was on the receiving end of it more than any of them. He feels almost worse about that, because she doesn’t deserve it, and yet here he is, pushing her away at every opportunity like she’s the one who did something wrong.

“I watched him with you at your birthday, Ni. He looks at you like. The way I used to,” she says softly, and it still gives him a physical ache in his chest, even though he’s well past it, doesn’t feel that way about her anymore. It’s more the memory of it, the easy haze of wanting and having, right up until he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute. They both smile wordlessly when the waitress drops the check, and Niall reaches out to grab it before she has a chance.

Ellie smiles at him, soft and sad as he drops some bills on the table and leaves the check on top. He holds the door for her when they walk out and tries not to look at his watch. He was going to put some quality time in the library because he’s got five hundred vocabulary flashcards to get through and four days to do it, but he’ll be late for his afternoon class if he goes now.

Ellie stops for a second when they get outside. It’s starting to cool down, if only marginally. Niall’s just glad for the lack of sweat on his skin.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. We’re your friends. I don’t know why you think that changed, but it didn’t. You have to let things go, okay? The rest of us have. We’re just waiting for you to catch up.”

She kisses his cheek before she turns to walk off, her back pack cutting into her shoulders. Niall feels a little queasy, isn’t sure if it’s the soup and coffee combination or the fact that she just brought up everything he tries to push down like that was something they do.

-

Lab is particularly bad that afternoon. His lab partner spends the entire three hours rolling her eyes at him every time he so much as breathes too loudly, and his nose is painfully dry by the time he leaves.

He’s got a text from Louis when he gets out. He hesitates for a second. They haven’t talked, not really, since Louis told him he was behind. Niall still feels guilty about it, and about the relative silence that’s grown between them since. It’s not—intentional, just. Sometimes the longer he goes without talking to people, the easier it is to just keep not talking to them.

‘got pizza and a bowl. el’s studying help !’

Niall has approximately one million things to do, and those flashcards aren’t even at the top of the list, and he’d blown them off for lunch with Ellie earlier.

This’ll help him relax, he tells himself. Rationally, he knows it won’t. He’s hyperaware when he’s sober, and worse when he’s high, but it takes the edge off at the same time, lets everything slide out of focus, even if he feels like he can see everything.

‘b right there,’ he types out, and shoves his phone back in his pocket before he can change his mind.

-

Louis’ building doesn’t have an elevator. Niall isn’t sure how they’re getting away with it, but he hates it, and he’s out of breath by the time he gets to Louis’ door.

“’s open!” Louis drawls when he knocks, and Niall lets himself in, inhales the familiar albeit gross smell of faint cigarettes and pizza.

He’s splayed on the couch, the bags under his eyes particularly bad today. He’s already gone through half of the pizza himself.

“Started without me?” Niall says, dropping his backpack in the doorway and shutting the door behind him.

“You walk too slow,” Louis says, blinking up at him. Niall clocks the red eyes and stubble and his bitten down fingernails, wonders if he’s told El about falling behind.

Louis’ happy to not talk about it, though. He puts on The Office and hands Niall the pizza box, then the bowl, and Niall can’t say no to either.

They melt into the couch. Niall really fucking doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, and Louis is drooling on his collarbone when he wakes up.

“Fuck,” he rasps. His mouth tastes terrible. His phone reads 7:30 and he groans. “Louis,” he starts, and shoves him off, pointedly doesn’t think about the way his lips felt against Niall’s skin.

“Lock the door if you’re leaving,” Louis mumbles, eyes still closed, curling up into the corner of the couch. He still has his shoes on, and Niall’s struck with the sudden urge to pull them off for him.

He doesn’t, though. Just grits his teeth and stares down at Louis for a second. His greasy hair and the hole in the side of his white t-shirt and dumps the pizza down the trash chute on his way out of the building.

It’s cool outside, and it clears the last of the high from his head. Niall feels sick when he thinks about all the time he wasted today, and the jumbled results from lab in his backpack. He’ll have to check against someone other than his lab partner. He has a week, though. He can push that back a little, do some studying for the GRE with what’s left of tonight instead.

Going up the stairs feels twice as terrible as usual when he finally gets home. The stairwell is stifling, humid and sticky, a marked contrast to the cool air outside. His backpack is digging painfully into his shoulders when he unlocks the door, and he can practically feel his laptop overheating through the fabric.

The door sticks, and he has to shove it open, stumbling a bit when he gets inside, and Harry’s there, sleeping on his couch.

He’s shirtless, just like he was the day after Niall’s birthday. He’s got a flannel shirt shoved under his head as a makeshift pillow, and Niall’s hopelessly endeared. It’s awful, really.

Niall groans internally at the swoopy feeling in his stomach when he looks at Harry. It isn’t fair. It’s really not, he thinks, stepping gingerly around the couch. It’s not fair for Harry to just pop into his life like this, and for everyone around them to encourage it and make Niall believe it’s something that’s within reach.

He goes right for the coffee maker in the kitchen, his stomach vaguely queasy from inhaling the pizza earlier.

It’s methodical, pouring coffee grounds from the Trader Joe’s tin into the filter. Putting it in, hitting power. Listening to it start to gurgle. Niall lets himself get lost in it, so much that he doesn’t notice Harry padding up behind him until his breath is on the back of Niall’s neck, and he’s got him pinned against the counter, hands on either side of him at the sink.

He can feel himself tense up instinctively, and he hopes Harry can’t tell. Maybe he does, though, because he pulls back just enough so that his hips aren’t pressed against Niall’s back anymore. Niall exhales sharply, lets the smell of coffee fill his lungs, mixed in with Harry’s flowery shampoo.

“Niall,” Harry breathes against his neck. “Ed let me in, but he has class tonight. Swear ‘m not stalking you.”

His voice is the exact same pitch as the coffee maker, low and grumbly and Niall could get lost in that. Under different circumstances, he can imagine it lulling him to sleep at night, Harry’s body warm and present next to his.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t strike me as a stalker. You’re dead clumsy and you don’t move too fast, don’t think you’d be very good at it.”

Harry pulls back at that, his hands sliding off the counter top, and Niall can breathe easy again. He laughs just picturing the offended look on Harry’s face.

“‘m not a sloth, Ni, give me some credit,” Harry says, tripping backwards by the sound of it. Niall focuses on pouring himself coffee, tries not to think about all of the work he hasn’t gotten done today.

“D’you mind if I crash your couch tonight? Ed said it was all right, but he also said he probably wouldn’t be back tonight, so it’s probably not his call, right?”

Niall turns slowly, lets the coffee mug burn his palms, and clutches it tighter against the sting.

“Sure,” he says. “Got a bit of work to catch up on, though so I won’t be very entertaining, sorry.”

Harry shrugs and heaves his backpack up onto the kitchen table.

“We can help each other focus, then. Study buddies and that. I have a big paper due tomorrow and I get distracted too easily when I’m on my own. And I think we spend enough time in the library as it is.”

-

It’s surprisingly easy, studying with Harry. Niall’s used to camping out in his room with the door closed and headphones in, but Harry insists on the kitchen, says easy access to snacks and coffee is essential to productive studying, and Niall’s too tired to argue with him.

They manage an hour, books spread out across the table, Harry’s brow furrowed in the fluorescent light of the kitchen, before he breaks, trapping Niall’s ankle between his feet.

“Harry,” Niall starts, pulling out one earbud. “We don’t need a break yet. Or I don’t need a break yet, the couch is yours if you want it—"

“How’d you know you wanted to study physics?”

Niall pulls his other earbud out. His ears always start to ache when he leaves them in for too long.

“Astrophysics,” he corrects automatically, like he’s been saying for the past decade, way back when he had this blurry picture in his head of what his life would be like with a degree in that kind of thing.

He shrugs, and it hits on every anxious thought he’s had for the past three years, how he can shrug off something he spent almost half of his life striving towards.

“Space makes me feel small. In like, a comforting way, if that makes sense.”

Harry stares him down from across the table, chin in his palm. His feet still have Niall’s ankle trapped between them, and Niall can feel every point of contact acutely.

“Like nothing you do will ever matter in the end, innit,” Harry says, and Niall swallows hard, because that’s it, kind of. Like, this vast reassurance that no matter how much he fucks up, no matter how many times, the universe won’t give a single fuck about it, in the end.

“Sounds more depressing than inspiring when you say it out loud.”

Harry lets his head hit the table with a dull thunk at that, and Niall winces.

“Everything’s a let down in reality, Niall. We might as well accept it now.”

Harry’s voice is muffled by the table, and he sounds defeated in a way that Niall doesn’t really know how to handle. Not that he ever knows how to handle this kind of thing, but Harry’s generally buoyant, doesn’t let himself get pulled down by things like this.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, and it sounds flat to his own ears, and he cringes internally. He doesn’t know why this is so hard.

“I hate this,” Harry mumbles, hair spread limp across the table. He’s got a large textbook open. The type’s too small for Niall to read from his position, but he’s sure it isn’t interesting. Most things aren’t, he’s found, when you really get down to it.

“You don’t hate it,” Niall says, even though he has no real basis for it. “I mean, you might think you hate it right now, because you’re sitting at my uncomfortable kitchen table doing a reading that looks a bit long, but like. Your whole life isn’t going to be like this.”

Probably, he thinks. He doesn’t feel as comfortable saying that about his own life.

Harry lifts his head off the table slowly, lets his feet slide away from Niall, and Niall exhales at the lack of contact. Harry looks tired. A little past normal tired, with droopy eyes and a red mark on his forehead from the table.

“Yeah,” he says after a minute. “Yeah, I’ve just been like—caught up in it recently. ’s hard to remember an end goal at all when I’m just sitting here reading till it feels like I’m going blind? You know when that happens, like you blink and you’re not sure if you’re gonna be able to see when you open your eyes again?”

Harry’s eyes are closed now, and there’s no way Niall’s going to be able to concentrate at this point.

“Haz,” he says, and the nickname still feels weird in his mouth. “You need a break, mate.”

“Mmffhh,” Harry groans, rubbing at his eyes. They’re red rimmed when he pulls his hands away. Niall blinks away the dryness in his own.

“Could listen to the mix you made. Haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, and Niall feels his gut clench at that, like he’s misstepped. “It’s an experience, Ni, you have to listen to it on your own. Don’t want to influence your opinion, yeah? But report back when you listen, okay?”

“Sure,” Niall says, clearing his throat. He tries to swallow down the residual adrenaline, but he still feels strung out under his skin. He stands up and stretches, sighs when his spine cracks.

“How about,” Harry starts, standing up to join Niall, “I borrow your shower, then we crash for the night. So we can get an early start tomorrow. Well rested and that.”

Niall laughs against the panic, because he’s fucked up today already, he might as well go to bed before midnight. Harry’s not wrong, he can be productive in the morning. Sometimes. He might be able to get some more vocabulary in or beg someone to look at their lab results. Yeah.

“Guess that’s logical,” Niall says, and Harry grins at him, eyes still a little red, and runs his hands through his hair.

“Don’t use all my shampoo,” he says, and Harry laughs, the unexpectedly shrieky one that Niall likes best, not that he’d ever admit that to Harry or anyone else. He’s hit with sudden gratitude that Ed isn’t here to witness this.

“Can’t make that promise, Niall, the hair’s my big draw,” Harry says over his shoulder, already padding out of the kitchen in the direction of the bathroom.

Niall waits until he’s out of sight to sit back down. He still feels a little shaky, like his knees wouldn’t have held out much longer. His laptop screen is blank. He can get a little more done before Harry gets out of the shower, probably. Or he could just—sleep.

-

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep still clothed and on top of the covers. He doesn’t expect Harry to come in after his shower, either. He’d thought it was an unspoken rule that Harry would take the couch, but he also should’ve known that Harry’s like air in the way he completely fills the space of whatever situation he’s in.

He smells clean, like Niall’s shampoo, and he probably fucking used the rest of it, because Niall knows there wasn’t that much left, and Harry has too much hair. Niall can tell he’s trying to be quiet and sneaky about it, but Niall’s mattress is creaky and small, and it sinks and squeaks under Harry’s weight.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, too loud in the quiet dark of Niall’s bedroom. “Sorry, can you just—budge up a bit, sorry Niall.”

“Harry,” Niall groans, but he’s too tired to put up a real fight. He rolls himself so he’s pressed against the wall, and it feels good. Cool against his skin. Harry fidgets and shifts until he’s got the covers pulled out from under Niall.

“Harry I swear,” Niall croaks, and Harry just pats his shoulder, hand warm through his t-shirt, and pulls the blanket over both of them.

It’d be too much if Niall were still capable of higher level processing, but he’s so tired that he doesn’t have the energy to stress about the way Harry’s definitely just wearing tiny pants and pressing his chest against Niall’s back, hair still a little drippy from the shower.

“Needed this,” Harry whispers against the back of his neck, breath hot, and Niall shudders instinctively with the last bit of energy he has left.

He lets Harry’s breathing lull him to sleep and tries not to lean in to his skin.

-

Ed’s looming over them when Niall wakes up. He’s got his phone out, too, and Niall knows this isn’t going to end well for him.

“Get out,” he says, his voice still rough. He blinks blearily at his alarm clock. 8:00. Not great, but he doesn’t have class until the afternoon, so he has some time, if he can get Ed out and extract himself from Harry.

“You’re so fucking gone, mate, don’t think I don’t know what that looks like,” Ed says, and he’s laughing but it makes Niall uncomfortable, like it’s obvious to everyone that he’s let himself slip into this like it’s sustainable, or even possible in the first place.

Harry’s head is mashed into his pillow and his eyes are slits, like he can hear their voices, but isn’t willing to commit to being awake yet.

“Out,” Niall says, trying to carefully and quickly climb over Harry.

“I’ve got the evidence, you can’t deny it now,” Ed says at full volume on his way out.

Niall follows him quickly, flicking Ed’s ear once they’re out in the hall.

“Evidence of friendship, sure,” he says, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him before Ed can say anything else.

His heart is pounding a bit and he’s on the edge of a headache, can feel it creeping in at his temples. He rubs at his eyes and tries not to look at himself in the mirror or think about how well he’d slept with Harry crammed into bed with him. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing does, if he’s going to let himself get existential about it, but even on a practical level, it’s—fine. Normal. It’s college, so it’s casual and fine and not something Niall has to let himself get worked up over.

Not that that’s ever stopped him, he thinks, stripping out of yesterdays clothes and taking his toothbrush into the shower with him.

He turns the water up, hot as he can stand it, and inhales the steam, tries to clear his head. Generously but not entirely unexpectedly, Harry left just enough shampoo behind for Niall to lather up. Niall can’t help but imagine Harry standing where he is, water running down his chest and distorting the tattoos on his hips. He does not jerk off thinking about it, because that would be fucking stupid.

He can’t make himself step back into his clothes from yesterday when he gets out, but he’d also do anything to avoid what’s on the other side of the bathroom door. Ed, teasing and looking at him like he’s completely transparent. Harry, sleepy soft and looking at Niall like he’s someone he wants.

He grits his teeth and does it, though, because he can’t afford to waste any more time this morning.

Harry’s not in his room anymore when he slips across the hall, towel wrapped tightly around his waist. Niall’s not sure if the twist in his stomach is relief or disappointment. He leans back against the door and lets it shut behind him. His head’s still pounding a little, so he swallows two Advil dry before dropping his towel and pulling on a clean pair of pants.

Harry chooses that moment to push his way back in, not even bothering to look away when he notices Niall’s state of undress.

“Knocking is common courtesy both here and at home, you know” Niall says dryly, trying to ignore the way his pulse is rabbiting.

“Whoops,” Harry says, but he’s grinning and still looking at Niall like he’s really not sorry.

Niall rolls his eyes and tries not to let himself tense as he turns back to his dresser to grab a clean shirt. He can feel Harry creep up behind him, even though he’s trying to be quiet about it.

“Harry,” Niall says, pulling a shirt over his head and elbowing Harry in the chest in the process, “what do you want?”

Harry’s close when he turns around. Too close, frankly, but Niall steps to the side and goes to make the bed.

“Was just coming back to do that, sorry,” Harry says, and his voice sounds a little forced, but Niall focuses on smoothing out the sheets and punching his pillow back into shape.

“No worries,” he says, and the words sound like they’re coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“Thanks,” Harry says haltingly. When Niall finally lets himself look at him again, Harry’s biting at his bottom lip so hard it looks like it hurts. He’s wearing a shirt of Niall’s and it’s a little tight across his shoulders, and Niall can’t stop looking.

“For what?” he forces out, and then Harry’s rushing forward, folding him up in a hug and Niall wasn’t expecting it, even if he should’ve been.

“Talking me down, letting me stay,” Harry says into his neck, and Niall gets goosebumps from the movement of Harry’s lips against his neck. He smells like Niall’s soap and clean boy and he’s heavy against Niall.

“Course, mate,” Niall says, and Harry hugs him so tight that his back cracks a little.

“You sound tense, Niall,” Harry says, pulling back slowly. He lets his hands rest at Niall’s hips for a minute, and it’s—Niall takes a half step back before he can stop himself. Harry’s smile fades a little at that, but he shakes it off after a second.

“Be fine once this test is over,” he says, stepping around Harry and grabbing his backpack. “I’ll be back to normal once it’s out of the way.”

“‘m holding you to that,” Harry calls after him, and Niall bites at the inside of his cheek because he doesn’t know how to tell Harry that this is normal.

-

The next few weeks feel like he’s underwater. Harry keeps bringing coffee and smoothies to the library even when they’re not on a shift together, and Niall just blinks at him every time and tries to smile his thanks.

The test is fine. He scores enough above average that he only pukes once when it’s over. He’s not spectacular, just falls into that nebulous in-between that never really gets him anywhere. Good, but not good enough to be memorable or worthy.

He tries to inhale deeply on his walk home from the testing center, keeps waiting for the weight to lift off his shoulders, but it doesn’t.

There’s a weird buzzing coming from behind the door that gives Niall pause before he opens it. He stands in the hall outside his and Ed’s apartment for a minute and just listens. He can hear the video games from next door, but whatever’s going on in his own apartment is almost drowning it out.

He has a flashback to freshman year when he walked in to Ed trying to make Pot Noodles in the coffee maker. They’d had to get another one after that, and he made Ed pay for it.

He braces himself as he fumbles his key in the lock, and when he gets inside, Ed and Harry are camped out at the kitchen table. It’s hard to see what they’re doing at first, but the cogs slide into place after a second. Ed’s sprawled back in his chair, arm on the table with Harry gloved up and gripping it tightly, tattoo gun in his other hand.

Niall should’ve recognized the sound, he thinks, dropping his bag on the floor by the couch. He’s spent enough time in tattoo parlors for someone who doesn’t have any, and the sound’s ingrained in his memory at this point.

Harry stops when he sees Niall and switches off the machine, the buzz dying abruptly.

“Harry’s a man of many talents, but he’s not an artist,” Ed says, and Harry shoots him a glare. Niall laughs a little and feels the knot in his stomach start to loosen.

“You shouldn’t cross the man with the tattoo gun in his hand, Ed. How’d it go Ni? Feel good to be done?”

Niall shrugs. “Did all right. Probably took like ten years off my life, though, worrying about it.”

“Don’t be modest, ‘m sure you smashed it. No way you didn’t, I provided enough banana heavy smoothies to guarantee it.”

“Haz,” Ed interrupts, “shut the fuck up about the bananas and finish, yeah?”

Harry glares at him again but goes back to work, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Niall sits down across from them at the table. He can’t look away from the ink on Ed’s skin, the way his skin is bright white in Harry’s grip. He feels that vaguely nauseous tug in his stomach, the one he always gets when he comes close to pushing himself to do something he isn’t one hundred percent sure about.

“Wanna give me one next?” he says, voice shaky. He won’t be able to back down from it now, because it’s Harry, and Niall’s acquired a bad habit of making exceptions for him.

“Seriously? How many times did you back out on me, and now you agree to get one in the kitchen?

“Shut it, Sheeran, this is a watershed moment, okay. Niall requires gentleness, I promised him that when I offered to take his virginity.”

Ed laughs long and loud at that, and Harry finishes up, wipes away the excess ink. Niall starts to sweat.

“What’d you get?” Niall asks, feeling like he might throw up again. Ed extends his arm across the table for Niall to look while Harry putters around, switching needles, Niall assumes, and wiping down the table in front of Ed.

“Pingu,” he says, “printed it out because H isn’t the best at drawing. Looks all right, though,”

“Heeyyy,” Harry says, stripping off his gloves and digging around in his bag for a new pair. “Know what you want, Ni?”

“Get the screws, yeah? ’s what you were going for last time, wasn’t it?”

Niall swallows and nods, his throat tight.

“Yeah, just like. On my ankle? An x. On the head of a screw, like,” he says, and Harry’s nodding, his face serious.

“Don’t even need a stencil then, I don’t think. You know where you’d like it?”

“Ankle, I think? If that’s okay?”

Harry smiles wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your tattoo, Nialler, you pick where. ’s all fine for me.”

Ed gets up and beckons at him to switch spots. Niall feels shaky when he stands up. He should probably eat first, he thinks, but he knows that if he stops now, he’ll probably end up backing out again.

“Maybe like, on the table would be easier,” Harry says, eyeing his setup critically. “Or did you want it on the inside?”

“Inside’s good,” Niall says quickly, and spontaneity isn’t his thing, never has been, but especially now, and this feels like ripping off a bandaid, kind of.

“You sure?” Harry says, and he grabs Niall’s wrist and stares him down, eyes huge and green, and Niall can hear Ed sighing across the table at them.

“You weren’t kidding about the gentle, were you? Gotta warn him about the pain, though, H,” Ed says, and Harry breaks his stare to roll his eyes.

“All tattoos are a bit painful, Edward. You just have to learn to love the pain, yeah? Think Niall can handle that,” he says. Niall feels queasy but he’d welcome the pain at this point just to have something else to focus on.

“‘m gonna order pizza. You’ll need sustenance after this, Niall,” Ed says, and Harry taps at his knee until he swings his leg up and rests his ankle on his knee.

“Hope you don’t mind me in your personal space,” Harry says, his chair scraping against the floor as he moves in close. Niall can smell the minty gum on his breath. Harry’s so close that Niall can see his individual pores, all the imperfections on his skin, and that’s comforting in a weird way. That Harry isn’t as untouchable in reality as he is in Niall’s head.

“Niall?”

“Yeah, sorry, no you’re all right,” he says belatedly, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s face.

“Ankles do hurt a bit, sorry to say,” Harry says, gripping below his ankle tightly. “Anything close to the bone like that is a bit stingy.”

“Feels like someone’s digging into your bones,” Ed calls from the couch, engrossed in his phone. “Got Domino’s cos there was a deal on Postmates.”

“Ready?” Harry asks, and Niall can’t even look at him, so he just shuts his eyes tightly and nods.

“Hey,” Harry tugs gently at his leg, and Niall forces himself to open his eyes and look down at him.

It’s a lot, looking at Harry from this angle. If he could focus on anything but not throwing up, he’d be imagining things he definitely shouldn’t be.

“You can back out, you know. ’s not the end of the world. Tattoos aren’t for everyone. Won’t think any less of you.”

“Do it before I back out, H,” Niall says, gritting his teeth. Harry bites at his lip like he wants to say something else, but he nods after a second and Niall exhales sharply when the needle hits his skin.

It hurts, obviously, but it breaks the tension in his neck and gives him something else to zero in on. He stares down at Harry’s curls, a little limp again, like he’s gone one too many days without washing his hair.

It’s over fast, and Harry’s pulling back, grinning at him, wiping away the excess ink from his skin, and Niall feels looser than he has in months. Maybe in years, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Thanks for letting me take your virginity,” Harry says, still grinning at him, this time at eye level.

Niall laughs for real, feels it deep in his belly.

“This is a lot of foreplay for a public space, lads,” Ed calls from his perch on the couch.

Niall can feel his face flushing and he scoots back in his chair, but Harry just laughs, stands up and starts organizing his stuff.

“Know you like a show, Edward, don’t deny it,” Harry says, stripping his gloves off.

Niall can’t stop staring at the marks on his skin. He wants to touch, to press against it and encourage the sting, but he knows he shouldn’t, so he just curls his fingernails into his palm and lets the hurt light him up.

“Try to keep it out of direct water for a few days, but it should heal up quick,” Harry says, washing his hands. “And moisturize. Don’t pick at the scabs. Be better than Ed, basically, he always fucks his up during the healing process.”

“I don’t,” Ed says, getting up from the couch and heading for the door. “All of mine are pristine, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Styles. Pizza’s here. I’ll be back.”

And he’s gone, and Niall’s sitting alone with Harry, his skin still buzzing.

“How d’you feel?”

Harry’s perched on the kitchen counter again, making a real habit out of it.

“Relaxed? Like I’ve just come down from the mother of all adrenaline rushes, I dunno,” Niall says, dropping both feet to the floor and stretching out his legs.

“Mmm,” Harry hums, “yeah, I get that feeling after, too. Like I’m just buzzing when I’m getting it, then feel a bit like a wet noodle when it’s done. A bit addicting, innit?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, mate, I’m not going to cover myself like the two of you.”

Harry just smirks, glances over at the door when Ed bangs his way back in.

“You’ll change your tune, just wait.”

-

Harry’s not entirely wrong, Niall’s reticent to admit. The tension rushes back into his body in the weeks that follow, and Niall misses the looseness of his bones that followed getting the tattoo. He doesn’t want another one, necessarily, but he wants that feeling back. Something tangible to focus on other than his real life.

He gets drunk with Louis to take the edge off.

It’s not a great idea, Niall knows, but taking the edge off with Louis is much less of a minefield than it is with Ed or Harry. Louis’ untouchable, Niall knows that, and nothing about that’s going to change.

Louis’ already well on his way to drunk when he gets to Bar Nine. The bartender’s sliding a guinness across the bar before he even sits down, and Niall’s not sure if he finds it comforting, that feeling of being known, or if he’s too predictable and needs to find a new bar.

“Niall,” Louis slurs, patting the stool next to him. “‘m best mate. Love you, you know that?”

“Should probably slow down if you’re already telling me you love me, Lou.”

Louis laughs, but it’s bitter and sad, and Niall feels his stomach drop. He sits and takes a long pull of his beer, feels it slide all the way down into his empty stomach.

“El broke up with me,” he says, voice raspy like he’s been chain smoking.

Niall wants to just melt into the floor, or evaporate and disappear through the ceiling, either one. Anything to get him out of this bar, away from Louis and the problems Niall isn’t equipped to deal with.

“Sorry, Louis,” Niall says, and he thinks the noise of the bar swallows it up, but Louis drags himself closer and lets his head fall onto Niall’s shoulder.

He smells like sweat and cigarettes, like maybe this happened a few days ago and he’s just now gotten up the courage to tell someone.

“Don’t tell me it’s gonna be okay,” Louis says, and Niall lets the relief wash over him and the buzz of the bar swallow them up. He tries not to think about anything. Not about how he doesn’t know how to comfort Louis or tell Ed he’s sorry. He tries to forget about Harry, about how he’s a warm and constant presence and everything Niall wants and can’t have. Shouldn’t want. How at the end of the day he’s just a shit friend, and it’s his own fault.

-

Louis is still drunk when they leave. Niall’s—buzzed. He doesn’t let his guard down around Louis, generally, doesn’t want to fall into anything he can’t get out of.

He walks Louis back to his apartment, arm wrapped around his waist, with Louis’ head lolling over on his shoulder. His hair’s damp against Niall’s neck and then it’s his lips instead of his hair and Niall’s jerking away like he’s been hit with an electric shock. It’s probably, definitely an accident, but it’s still too much, even if Niall isn’t drunk.

He wrangles Louis over to the front door and Louis twists in his arms, cheeks a little wet with tears even if he’d never admit it, and wraps himself around Niall.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles into Niall’s neck, lips moving wetly against Niall’s skin. “‘m fuckin’ fine, I swear, I—” he breaks off into a sob, and Niall leans into him for a second. Presses his lips into Louis’ hair and inhales deep, even though Louis’ hair is dirty and it’s gross and he knows he shouldn’t be doing this, because Louis is in love with El even if they’re not together right now.

“Fuck,” Louis gasps into his shoulder, breath hot and shaky, and Niall feels frozen and helpless and doesn’t know how to extract himself at all.

He’s not sure how long they stand there, outside of Louis’ building. He squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t move his arms from around Louis’ waist because it feels too harsh. Too sudden. It’s too easy to give in, after a while. To hug Louis as tightly as Louis is hugging him, because three years ago he needed this. And he shouldn’t be taking it here and now. It’s wrong, and this is Louis’ pain, not Niall’s but he can’t stop his eyes from burning hot with tears because he knows how much it hurts even if he can’t say it.

Louis pulls back slowly, wiping at his face and then stumbling back.

“Let me come up with you,” Niall says, even though it feels weird asking like that, especially with Louis.

“No,” he says, and Niall can feel himself inching backwards and the hot prickle of embarrassment starting at the base of his neck. “‘m all right, ‘m fine, sorry for getting snot all over you, fuck,” Louis finishes, and it doesn’t help as much as Niall wants it to, not that he has any right to be the one feeling hurt here.

“Okay,” he says, and at least his voice doesn’t crack or give him away, because Louis pulls him back into a brief hug before disappearing inside.

Niall can’t make himself move at first. He just wants the sidewalk to swallow him up, can’t stop worrying about Louis and if he’s really sober enough to be by himself and if he should’ve pushed to follow him upstairs or not.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, he just knows that he’s cold by the time he manages to make himself turn around and head back in the direction of his own apartment. It’s not a long walk, but it feels miles longer than usual, and he doesn’t have the energy to engage with Ed at all, just bypasses his position on the couch and falls straight into bed.

-

It’s suffocating, the next week. Like Niall’s finally overloaded himself to the point that he can’t engage mentally at all, just coasts through and phones it in and can’t even begin to think about the consequences.

He has an essay for sociology due in two days and he’s not sure he even knows what the prompt is anymore.

The library’s full now. It’s that point in the semester, and Niall has a brief flash of missing the emptiness of August, how he had it all to himself, when everything felt like a relatively blank slate. Now he’s bogged down, his brain overflowing with equations he has no context for and the low hum of what if running underneath it all.

They’re in that weird in between where the air conditioning’s still on low, but it’s too cool outside for it to really be necessary, and Niall shivers, goosebumps covering his arms. It keeps him awake, but it’s distracting in its own way, and he rests his head in his hands and watches the words in his textbook slide out of focus.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, jerking him out of his head. He contemplates ignoring it for a second, because he’s really got to finish this fucking essay. Then he has applications to three schools that he has to finish and requests for letters of recommendation that he has to send.

His stomach starts to hurt thinking about it, so he slides his phone out of his pocket. Harry’s name’s at the top. Niall bites his lip at the sight of it, and bypasses Harry’s message to thumb open Ed’s from an hour ago.

‘babysitting lou tonight, probably won’t be in. gave h my spare key figured u wouldn't mind,’ it says, and Niall feels his pulse beat a little harder in his neck.  
Louis’—coping. He goes out every night, as far as Niall can tell, but he hasn’t been arrested for public drunkenness or expelled from school, so Niall counts that as coping. Niall tries not to think about Harry having unlimited access to his and Ed’s apartment, but he can’t help but wonder if Ed had some kind of ulterior motive.

He rubs his eyes hard and blinks away the black dots before he slides Harry’s text open.

‘know you’re working tonight so i made pasta. want to check on your tattoo when you get in,’ he’s typed out, and Niall’s stomach lurches and the hour he has left on shift suddenly feels too long and too short at the same time.

It’s impossible to concentrate now that he knows Harry’s waiting for him. Niall tries to rationalize it in his head. That Harry’s lonely because he doesn’t have a roommate and he doesn’t want to be responsible for Niall dying of infection, that it doesn’t have anything to do with any feelings Harry may or may not have for him.

-

He can smell what Harry’s cooking the second he steps out of the stairway and into the hall. He pauses for a minute before he goes in, just stands out in the hallway alone, lets the smell of tomato sauce fill his lungs and rests his head against the wall, tries to focus on the cool of the surface and not anything else.

Harry’s shirtless at the stove top when Niall lets himself in, even though it’s well into October and it’s sufficiently cool outside. He’s got two pots going on the stove and his hair is starting to frizz at the ends and the ratty kitchen towel Niall’s mother bought him the summer before freshman year is tucked into his belt and it’s equal parts achingly domestic and weird.

“Pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” he says, and Harry spins around, already grinning. His chest’s a bit flushed, probably from the pot of boiling water, and Niall doesn’t know how he ended up here.

“I used to be a baker, you know,” Harry says, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his chest. “Know all about health codes and that.”

“Smells good, at least,” Niall says, wincing when he drops his backpack by the couch. He rubs at his shoulders where it dug in and kicks off his shoes before he walks in to the kitchen.

“Was gonna do a pesto, but I found this great homemade sauce at the bodega by my apartment and couldn’t resist,” Harry says, then beckons to the kitchen table. “Sit, gotta check out my work. Hope you haven’t been scratching.”

Niall rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the flutter in his stomach. The tattoo is tiny, the x barely noticeable to everyone else, Niall’s sure, but he swears he can still feel the pressure of the needles sometimes. It’d itched something awful the first few days, but he didn’t scratch, too afraid of pulling the ink out and having nothing to show for all the anxiety and back and forth.

“Did my best,” he says, sitting down carefully. The chair still wobbles a bit under his weight, and Niall thinks absently about all the pizza he’s been eating.

Harry drags the other chair over to face Niall and sits down heavily, scooting forward and going right for Niall’s ankle. He moves so fast Niall doesn’t even have time to stop him or feel self conscious over the fact that his feet are probably a little sweaty from the walk home.

Harry’s hands are warm against his skin, and he pulls Niall’s foot up into his lap. His hair falls forward, still frizzy at the ends, and Niall can’t stop looking at the tattoos on his shoulders.

“Who’re the initials for?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Harry’s fingers are tracing his ankle, feather light, but the callous on his thumb catches on Niall’s skin and makes him shiver. It’s probably from playing guitar, he thinks, picturing all the time Harry and Ed must’ve spent on their couch practicing for that music seminar they’re taking together.

“My mum and Gem,” Harry says absently, still looking intently at the tiny black lines on Niall’s skin. It’s clearly fine, the skin hasn’t been red for days, and the scabs are gone, so there’s no reason for him to still be touching Niall’s skin like this, but Niall can’t bring himself to move.

“Gemma’s my sister,” he clarifies a second later, wrapping his hand around Niall’s ankle and looking up at him.

His eyes are—very green, even in the ugly fluorescent lights of the kitchen, and Niall’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. Harry’s not tan anymore, his skin washed out and pale, tattoos stark, and Niall thinks about a girl out there somewhere with Harry’s laugh and dimple and wonders how the world could possibly hold both of them.

“They brought me up, so it’s a reminder, like. They’re always sitting on my shoulders,” he finishes, and Niall swallows and nods.

The water’s bubbling away on the stove behind them but Niall feels frozen, like he wants to crawl out of his skin and run away or stay inside this moment forever, he’s not sure. He just knows that he’ll ruin it if he moves, so he doesn’t.

Harry breaks first, rubs his thumb over Niall’s ankle one last time before sliding it gently out of his lap.

“Looks all right, yeah?”

He stretches when he stands up, and Niall’s eyes catch on the thin trail of hair disappearing into the top of his jeans and all of this feels horribly unfair, everything he wants and can’t have fully within reach.

“Niall,” Harry starts, and Niall flushes at being caught out. He stands up quickly and almost kicks the chair over.

“Think the water’s about to boil over, mate,” he says quickly, and Harry bites his lip and stares him down for a second before he turns around to tend to it.

Niall watches the long line of his back and his hunched shoulders, thinks about just. Drowning himself in the shower, or something. Anything to get out of this without damaging it. Because he’ll take what little he has with Harry if it means he gets to keep it. He won’t ever reach for more because he knows how that goes.

-

They eat quietly. Harry’s still shirtless, and Niall tries to steer the conversation towards safe things, like their schedules at the library, and midterms, and what they’re going to do after to celebrate.

“I’m flying home for fall break,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out to meet his forkful of pasta. Niall can’t stop staring. “Mum sprung for airfare cos she wanted me and Gem back to get fitted for her wedding in the summer.”

“Love a wedding,” Niall says, even though he doesn’t, remembers the stiltedness of his mum’s wedding and Greg’s heavy presence, the way he went back to his da’s after and slept for two days straight. Harry’s smiling and nodding at Niall across the table, though, because Niall knows normal people like these kinds of things, even if he’s not one of them.

“Should be quite fun, I think. It’s in late June, so hopefully the weather’ll be a safe bet,” he mumbles around another mouthful of pasta.

“Don’t jinx it,” Niall warns, thinking about the drizzle on Greg’s July wedding. “the motherland’s finicky like that.”

Harry just narrows his eyes at him.

“’s not Ireland, Niall, please.”

Niall tosses his napkin in Harry’s face and Harry laughs through it, abrupt and squeaky and it makes Niall laugh too, his stomach uncomfortably full.

-

Harry lingers after dinner. Helps Niall do the dishes even though he made the food and Niall tries to push him in the direction of the couch, hands sweaty against Harry’s skin.

“Are you staying, then?” Niall asks. It’s well past eleven, and Harry’s been camped out on Niall’s bed for hours. Niall’s not sure if he’s going a reading or if he’s just trawling the internet, getting sucked into Buzzfeed article after Buzzfeed article.

He twists his neck and sighs with relief when it cracks. His desk is cluttered with empty coffee cups and Niall spares a brief second of guilt for his increasing environmental footprint.

“Only if it’s all right,” Harry says, voice rough from disuse. He’s flat on his back when Niall turns to look at him, eyes shut and hair dark against the faded gray of Niall’s comforter.

He remembers tugging it out of Greg’s closet, can even remember tagging along with Greg when he bought it for his first and ultimately aborted attempted at university. Niall never pictured it in this context, with someone like Harry spread out across it, thousands of miles from his dad’s house. It looks weirdly small in this context. Like it was never meant to fit in this kind of life, in a huge city that’s always on the verge of swallowing up, where Niall’s never felt less significant.

“Course,” Niall coughs, and watches the slow smile spread across Harry’s mouth.

He rummages around in his drawers, pulls out a t-shirt and clean pants before turning to head for a shower.

“Ya can steal a clean shirt if you want, just help yourself,” Niall says awkwardly, flapping his hand in the direction of his dresser. Harry just hums in response and curls his toes in his socks.

-

Harry’s burrowed under the covers, clothes in a pile on the floor when Niall gets out of the shower. He doesn’t want to think about Harry’s state of undress before he has to, so he checks his email again, organizes all of his papers and notebooks and puts them neatly in his backpack. Wanders back into the kitchen and sets the coffee maker for seven in the morning even though he knows he won’t be able to drag himself out of bed that early.

It’s dead quiet without Ed there. The neighbors must be at the library or studying elsewhere at long last, because he can’t hear any video games in the background.

He pads over to double check the lock on the door, a force of habit from when he still lived with his mom. It’s locked. For a second Niall wants to run. To grab his backpack, maybe, and spend the night in the library, because he could always study more, no question.

He walks back to his room on autopilot instead, because when he’s tired he thinks of all the little things Harry does and what people say about the two of them and it’s hard not to think about it, sometimes. He shuts the lights off methodically, walks back through the kitchen, and closes his bedroom door softly behind him.

Harry’s still buried and the desk lamp is still on. All Niall can see is the dark of his hair peeking up over the comforter. He should definitely, definitely go sleep on the couch. So he gets to keep this, so he can maintain the delicate balance of too close and not close enough that he and Harry keep toeing. He clicks the light off and Harry groans in response.

“Sorry,” Niall whispers harshly, “I’ll just—”

“Get in already,” Harry mumbles, voice low with sleep. Niall chews hard on his bottom lip, because three times makes it a habit, probably, Harry curling up in bed beside him, and it’ll be hard to let go of, Niall knows.

“C’mon,” Harry says when Niall doesn’t move, and he throws the covers back.

He’s only got pants on, naturally, but Niall’s exhausted, and the beginnings of a headache are banging away at his temples, and the couch just isn’t comfortable, especially not after four years of wear and tear and Ed and Ellie and a lot more bodies than Niall really wants to think about.

He’s careful crawling in next to Harry. The mattress is painfully loud, and his knee protests, and the bed really isn’t big enough for both of them, but he manages it. There’s a centimeter of space between them for a second, then Harry’s wiggling back against him, miles of warm skin and Niall lets himself ease into it. He’ll hate himself in the morning, he knows, because the light of day always ruins these kinds of things. But he lets himself have it for a second, like if it’s dark outside, it doesn’t count, and he won’t ever have to let it go.

-

Harry’s got his arms wound around Niall’s middle when he wakes up. Niall inhales a lungful of Harry’s shampoo, the scent faded and familiar at this point. He’s sweating a little. The covers are up to their necks and Harry’s like a space heater, impossibly warm and long-limbed and Niall has to shut his brain off for a second so he can reboot and figure out how to extract himself without the inevitable awkward.

His arms are folded up tight, trapped between his chest and Harry’s. Niall starts to shift back, careful not to roll right off the edge of the mattress, but Harry grumbles deep in his chest, pulls him in tighter, and Niall can feel the press of Harry’s morning wood against his thigh and it’s just—a lot. Harry doesn’t seem bothered by it, not in his current state of consciousness, at least, and on a rational level, Niall knows it’s not a big deal. It’s inevitable, or biology, or whatever, it doesn’t have anything to do with Niall. Doesn’t have to, anyway, and he won’t let himself think about other alternatives.

Harry pulls him back in. Shoves his face into Niall’s neck and presses his lips against Niall’s skin and it feels a little like Niall’s burning alive. Every cell in his body is leaning towards Harry and it would be so easy to just fall into it all. The too hot press of his skin and his lips on Niall’s neck and maybemaybemaybe his mouth.

Niall rolls off the edge of the bed, hits the ground with a soft thump.

His stomach feels tight with nausea for a second, and he squeezes his eyes shut when he hears Harry’s groan from the mattress above.

“Fuck,” Niall mumbles against the carpet, because he can maybe, probably, play this off like he was still asleep when he fell.

“Niall?” Harry says, voice scratchy and deep. He rolls over so his face is hanging over the edge of the mattress, his eyes puffy with sleep. “You all right?”

Harry doesn’t seem bothered by any of this—their shared body heat or the way they were just pressing up against each other. Niall can still feel Harry’s lips on his skin, and Harry’s just blinking down at him, serene as anything.

“Fell,” Niall forces out, and he’s never felt like a worse liar in his life, but Harry must be too tired to notice, because he flops back on the mattress and groans.

“What time is it?” Harry mumbles, and Niall doesn’t even want to think about moving, but he has more studying to do than there are hours in a day and he can feel the low level panic start to rise up to a level that isn’t quite as manageable.

“Dunno,” Niall says, heaving himself up into a sitting position. He grabs for his phone and internally winces when he sees that he forgot to set his alarm. “Bit after nine, ‘m probably going to head out for a bit, get some work done at the library.”

“You spend too much time there,” Harry says into Niall’s pillow. “Get back in bed, sleep’s good for your brain.”

He pats the mattress next to him awkwardly, his arm flopping around on the mattress. The white of Niall’s sheets makes his skin look tanner than it is, impossibly warm, and Niall can picture it, the two of them curled into each other, all skin on skin, and he wants.

“Can’t,” Niall says, and he hopes it’s not obvious in his voice how much he wants to crawl back into bed and let whatever happens happen.

He changes in the bathroom and doesn’t let himself look in the mirror while he brushes his teeth, just squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the repetitive motion of brushing.

Harry’s gone from his bed when he leaves the bathroom, and he’s left the bed neatly made in his wake. Niall tries not to think about any of it, just grabs his backpack and heads for the kitchen.

He smells the coffee right away, and Harry’s perched on the counter, face still sleep soft, swinging his bare feet against the cabinets.

“Coffee’s ready for you,” he says, and holds out Niall’s travel mug.

Niall reaches out to take it and when his fingers brush Harry’s he just wants to hold on forever, to lose himself in the warmsmoothsoft of Harry’s skin.

He can’t, though, so he pulls back and smiles, swallows down the weird sadness that’s bubbling up in his throat.

“Like a proper housewife, you are,” he says, and Harry grins at him, dimple deepening in his cheek.

“Mum taught me well,” he says, and Niall keeps his eyes on Harry’s face, doesn’t let himself look down at Harry’s bare chest, doesn’t let himself think about the way they were pressed against each other, doesn’t let himself think about what would’ve happened if he’d stayed.

“I’ll see you on the other side, yeah? ‘M ready for things to go back to normal. Library smoothies and you letting me distract you. I miss that,” Harry says, and Niall smiles as big as he can, so big it hurts, because if he can’t tell Harry that he wants to wake up next to him forever and tell him everything, he can at least try to show it this way.

“Thanks for the coffee, Haz,” he says, letting himself fall into the nickname because it makes Harry smile.

“Anything for you, Niall.”

-

Midterms are--they make Niall never want to leave his room again. There’s nothing like staring down at an exam that covers every last thing they’ve ever talked about during lecture, plus more than a few things they haven’t to make Niall feel like a class A idiot. He can’t even comprehend subjecting himself to another decade of it when he walks out of his lab practical.

He stops for a second once he’s outside the room and leans back against the wall, lets his head thud gently back against it and flexes his fingers. They’re cramped from cramming in the last bits of his results that may or may not be totally correct. He was close, probably, hopefully, but his brain’s beyond figuring out how badly he may or may not have fucked up.

Niall digs his phone out, the case hot in his hands after being in his back pocket for so long. He’s already got texts from Ed and Harry and something small and warm settles in his stomach when he sees Harry’s name.

It’s a fucking terrible idea, probably, given the way he almost gave in earlier in the week, when his head was still maxed out, but Niall types the message out anyway.

‘Got some stuff from a friend to help take the edge off if u want to celebrate.’

He hesitates for a second because it’s almost definitely inadvisable to smoke up with Harry. Niall can only speak for himself, but he knows he goes all syrupy slow and fuzzy when he’s high, lets himself slide into things without really thinking of the consequences, and Harry’s a minefield that way. One wrong move and Niall could ruin all of it, the coffee in the morning and late at night and Harry’s warm body next to his in bed.

He hits send. Takes a shaky breath and lets him think about the long line of Harry’s body against his, the way he looks at Niall sometimes when he thinks Niall’s not looking. Just for a second. He can let himself think about it, because it doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything.

-

It’s Harry’s idea to try to hotbox the bathroom.

“Pretty sure we’ll set the fire alarm off this way, H. I usually play it safe and hang a bit out the window to air everything out, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t even glance at him, just shuts the bathroom door firmly behind them and pulls Niall’s towel down off the rack to stuff it in the crack under the door.

“Harry, that’s--”

“Niall,” Harry interrupts, “I have a process, don’t rush me. Everything’s going to be fine, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

Niall laughs at the absurdity of it all, crammed in his tiny bathroom with Harry, teetering on the edge of leaning into Harry’s next touch, even though he knows he shouldn’t.  
“Was gonna say that’s my towel you’re dirtying up tossing it down like that, but I’ll respect the process,” Niall says, watching the muscles of Harry’s back shift underneath his t-shirt.

“I’ll wash it for you,” Harry says easily, straightening up. “Now, in the shower. It’ll insulate us more.”

Niall thinks about protesting for a second, but it’s not worth it at this point. He’s in too far as it is, he might as well go all the way, bend to Harry’s whims and circuitous explanations for everything.

“Dunno if there’s enough room for both of us,” he says. It’s weak, a last ditch attempt to back his way out of something he invited himself into.

“Sharing is caring, Niall, come on,” Harry says, and pushes him forward gently.

Niall goes.

-

The smoke is sickly sweet in his mouth, acrid and familiar, and it reminds him of countless late nights with Louis, coughing his lungs out at the beginning because he inhaled too sharply, the back of his throat burning. Niall might be done with New York and almost everything that comes with it, but he’ll miss this when it’s gone.

Harry’s leg is draped over his. Niall wishes for a second that they weren’t both wearing jeans, that he could feel the warmth of Harry’s skin against his. He wants to drown in it sometimes, especially when he gets stuck in the memory of sleepy warm Harry. When he passes the joint back, Harry’s fingers brush against his and he feels the sharp stab of want in his belly. He swallows and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and listens to him inhale.

Harry coughs, and the movement jostles Niall’s head, but he can’t make himself lift it up again.

The floor of the shower is surprisingly comfortable. Niall’s not sure if it’s because he’s used to it at this point, or if he’s just buzzed enough to ignore the cold bleeding through his jeans. He doesn’t ever want to move from this spot, Harry’s body pressed all along his, the pleasant floaty feeling replacing all of the leftover stress in his brain.

“Best idea ever,” Harry mumbles. Niall can feel Harry’s jaw moving against his skull when he talks. It feels weird. Wobbly, or like he and Harry are connected. Heavy, no gossamer thin threads pulling them together. Solid. Purposeful.

“‘m pretty fuckin’ smart sometimes,” Niall says, nosing at Harry’s neck. He smells clean. Harry always smells clean, it’s one of the things Niall likes best about him. He fumbles a bit when he feels Harry passing the last of the joint into his fingers.

“Smartest person I know,” Harry breathes into his hair, and Niall swears he can feel it all over his body, Harry’s warm breath and the weight of him.

The edges of everything are fuzzy when Niall opens his eyes, and he sucks in one last lungful of smoke and holds it, lets it burn up his lungs from the inside. Time feels like it’s suspended, and he’s not sure how long they’ve been sitting here, but his ass feels numb and he knows he should get up before he does something stupid, like kiss Harry’s neck or the mole to the right of his lips or exhale a lungful of smoke into his mouth.

It’s like they’re both underwater. Everything feels heavy and weightless all at once, slowed down and sleepy. Niall reaches down to touch his toes and dislodges Harry’s head from where it was resting on his in the process. Harry’s leg is still pressed heavy on top of his, and Niall’s knee protests when he stretches all the way out, his chest trapping Harry’s leg between his.

They’ve been closer than this, Niall knows, but when Harry runs his hand up Niall’s spine, it feels like he’s creeping under Niall’s skin, lighting him up from the inside out. He feels Harry’s finger catch in the hole right in the middle, and he lets his hand rest there, hot and heavy on Niall’s back. The shirt’s from years and years ago, back when he was still playing footy at school, and it stretches too tightly across his shoulders now, but Niall can’t quite let it go.

It’s weird to think about it, how this shirt’s traveled to a different continent with him, and that he’s wearing it sitting in a tiny shower stall pressed up against a boy who’s too big for Niall’s life.

Harry slides his hand around the back of Niall’s neck when he straightens back and it’s like gravity. Niall can hear a voice in his head shouting from very far away that this is a tipping point he isn’t going to be able to come back from, but Harry’s eyes are heavy lidded and his lips are bitten red and he’s breathing into Niall’s space and they’re past the point of no return, really.

“Fuck,” Niall breathes, and the words sound like they’ve come out of someone else’s mouth, but Harry’s pressing his lips against Niall’s before he can take it back or say anything else.

Harry kisses him with the slow kind of urgency with which he does everything else. It’s heavy and weighted, the way he slides his tongue across Niall’s bottom lip, makes Niall think it was his own idea to open up this way. Niall can’t stop focusing on the slick sounds their mouths are making, amplified and echoey in the bathroom. Harry’s hand is hot against the back of his neck and Niall tilts his head, bites at Harry’s bottom lip and rucks Harry’s shirt up so he can press into the soft of Harry’s hip.

“Niall,” Harry groans against his mouth, his other hand traveling down, down, down, until he’s fumbling at the button of Niall’s jeans. Niall jerks under his fingers, because he should’ve expected this, but he didn’t, for all the times he’s imagined it, Harry’s long fingers all over him.

Niall drags his lips away from Harry’s, tucks away the tiny whine that escapes Harry’s lips when he breaks away. He presses a kiss to the mole next to Harry’s mouth, and it’s too heavy for this. Too gentle and slow for the way Harry’s got his hand down the front of Niall’s pants all of a sudden, calloused fingers wrapped around his dick.

Niall bites at the corner of Harry’s jaw then stutters out a breath when Harry’s hand tightens on him. None of it feels real, not least of all the fact that Harry’s now the last person he kissed, everyone who came before a distant memory.

“Haz,” he breathes against Harry’s skin, and Harry’s mouth finds his again, mouth hot and searching and urgent, and Niall curses against his lips when Harry drags his thumb over the slick head of his dick.

He feels useless, like all the blood’s gone from his head, because it probably is, with the way Harry’s hand is speeding up. He pulls away from Harry’s mouth and lets his head fall back against the shower wall. Harry goes for his neck instead, sucking at the skin below Niall’s ear, and there’ll probably be an embarrassing mark there tomorrow, but Niall can’t make himself care, can’t stop staring at the hard outline of Harry’s dick in his too tight jeans and the way Harry’s hand on him is making every cell in his body thrum.

“Fuck, fuck, H, ‘m gonna—” Niall’s coming before he can get the rest of the words out, embarrassingly fast and all over Harry’s fist. Harry’s panting against his neck, his lips dragging against Niall’s skin, and Niall’s limbs are orgasm heavy and clumsy but he digs his fingers into Harry’s thigh through the worn fabric of his jeans and rides out the aftershocks, stares down at Harry’s fingers still wrapped around him, the head of his dick red and slick in Harry’s fist.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers against his neck, and it sounds deafening in the quiet of the bathroom. Niall’s skin feels like it’s vibrating, and he’s too tired to even protest when Harry winds his come sticky hand into Niall’s hair and drags him in, breathing against his mouth, eyes wide before he covers Niall’s lips with his.

Niall leans into it, then Harry’s swinging a leg over his and settling in his lap, warm and heavy and impossible to look away from. His hair’s curling at his temples and the flush on his cheeks goes all the way down his neck and disappears beneath his t-shirt. His hands are still resting against the back of Niall’s neck. Gentle, holding him in place. Niall reaches forward and tugs him in, pushes the thoughts about the last time he did this out of his head and leans into Harry’s mouth again.

He’s not sure how long they sit like that, Harry inching closer and closer until they’re pressed chest to chest, Harry rocking against him slow and lazy until Niall reaches around and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Harry’s jeans and presses his fingers in, swallowing Harry’s low groan.

He can feel Harry pressed all against his front, rocking forward, body heat bleeding through his jeans and Niall’s t-shirt. He drags his hand from where it’s pressed against Harry’s back and wedges it between them. Harry lets out a breathy moan against his lips and drops his head to Niall’s shoulder when Niall pops the button of his pants.

They sit there for a second, and it should be awkward and awful and a thing Niall’s going to regret in the morning, but he focuses on Harry’s breathing instead. The damp huffs of his breath against Niall’s t-shirt, how Niall’s dick’s still out but it doesn’t feel weird. The way Harry’s hard in his pants, hips twitching forward so minutely Niall doesn’t even think Harry knows he’s doing it. Niall noses at his hair, inhales the faint smell of smoke and strawberry shampoo.

Harry’s zipper is deafening when Niall moves again, dragging it down so slowly that Harry groans and bites at his neck.

“Fuck, Niall,” he whispers, his voice raspy from smoke and being turned on, Niall imagines.

It’s a bit like an out of body experience, tugging Harry’s pants down just enough to free his dick and wrap a hand around it.

Harry’s leaking, his dick shiny at the tip and he’s so, so hot in Niall’s hand. He stutters for a second, then picks up the pace, Harry inching closer like there’s any space left between them. He stares Niall down for a second, and Niall’s mostly clothed, dick aside, but he feels naked. Like Harry’s seeing every night Niall fell asleep thinking about him, every time he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling when Harry brought him coffee in the library or sat up with him studying.

Niall speeds up his hand and Harry lurches forward, lips wet and messy against his, sliding all over the place like he feels too good to stay still. Niall lets him. Just grips one hip tightly, digs his fingernails in, and jerks Harry off with his other hand. He wants to swallow up every squeak that leaves Harry’s mouth, wants to tuck it away so when he doesn’t have this anymore, when they’re stone cold sober and outside of this shitty bathroom he can hold on to how good it felt.

Harry’s quiet when he comes, surprisingly. Not that Niall let himself think about it too much before, but one second Niall’s twisting on the upstroke and the next Harry’s coming all over Niall’s shirt with a grunt, lips skipping across his cheek before he rests his forehead on Niall’s shoulder again.

Everything’s still buzzing in the aftermath. Niall feels calm and lit up inside all at once, and fuck, he should be jumping out the window with panic right now, but it feels like the end of a marathon, adrenaline still pounding through his body to the point that he can’t think straight.

“Sorry,” Harry says after a minute, pulling his head up like it weighs a ton. His eyes look a bit glassy, and Niall’s stomach twists. “Got you all messy, didn’t I?”

Niall bites at his lip. It hasn’t been more than five minutes, but he wants to kiss Harry again. It seems easier than talking about it, at least, so he does, just leans forward to press his lips against Harry’s, gentle this time. Not leading to anything else. He reaches down blindly to tuck himself back into his pants, which feels--awkward. Not something he knows how to navigate in the bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom with no dark to hide behind.

“Niall,” Harry whispers against his mouth after a second. He moves his hands from Niall’s shoulders down to his wrists and wraps his fingers around them impossibly gently.

Niall squeezes his eyes shut, like if they’re not open he won’t hear what Harry’s going to say next.

“Sleep,” Niall says quickly, and his voice is shot and it’s too loud but Harry just blinks slowly at him, his lips only centimeters from Niall’s.

“Yeah,” Harry says after a second, and his voice sounds a bit strangled, and it makes Niall’s stomach drop. “Guess I’m a bit knackered.”

Niall sits for a minute and just watches him. He’s so close that Niall could count his pores if he wanted to. His lips are still bitten red and a little shiny and his eyelashes are too long and it’s hard for Niall to drag his eyes away from how they brush against his cheeks, dark and shadowy and delicate.

It’s awkward, getting up. Niall’s thighs feel numb when Harry drags himself up and away, looming over him in the too small shower stall and holding his hand out for Niall to take.

They brush their teeth side by side. Niall with his toothbrush, Harry with his finger, and Niall can’t look away from Harry’s reflection in the mirror, the slight shadow of stubble on his upper lip and the dark circles under his eyes.

Niall feels sticky and gross but like a switch has been flipped, somewhere deep in his chest. It’s terrifyingly domestic, falling into this kind of routine with Harry, especially now that he knows what Harry looks like when he comes. It’s terrifying how much he wants it.

It shouldn’t be easy to fall into bed with Harry again, not with the way Harry’s come is drying tacky on his shirt, or the way this is a habit now, something Niall squirrels away for when he’s sad. There’s the beginnings of muscle memory to it, though, the way he gets in first, still fully clothed, and shoves himself up against the wall to make room for Harry. There’s a pause, and Niall can’t help but look back after a second, just in time to watch Harry pull his shirt up and over his head. Niall turns away before Harry can see him, hides his burning ears under the covers so he can’t hear Harry pulling his zipper down or stepping out of his jeans.

Harry slides in behind him after a minute, miles of warm skin pressing right up against Niall’s back.

He pretends to be asleep, because if he’s conscious, all he’s going to be able to think about his Harry’s lips on his and how he already misses it.

Harry drags his fingers up Niall’s arm slowly, like maybe he knows Niall’s not asleep yet but doesn’t want to call him on it. He leaves goosebumps in the wake of his fingers and Niall squeezes his eyes shut when Harry presses his lips against his neck, bites his lips to stop the shiver.

-

He falls asleep faster than he has in months. Maybe years, if he thinks about it. His face is pressed against the mattress, pillow shoved aside when he wakes up. Harry’s not next to him, and his stomach drops. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rips his shirt off, balls it up and twists it in his hands.

Harry chooses that moment to walk in, hair still dripping from the shower. He’s in yesterday’s clothes, and Niall wants to pull him back into bed, wrap himself around him and never let him go.

“Ed’s made coffee, it’s in the kitchen,” Harry says, scraping a wet curl away from his forehead. Niall zeroes in on the faint bruise on his neck. I did that, he thinks, then feels the nerves rise up in his stomach because Ed probably knows by now. That something happened, at least, even if he doesn’t have all the details.

“Thanks,” Niall says after a second. He can’t look at Harry anymore, so he looks down at his hands instead, still twisting the t-shirt beyond repair, probably.

“Hey,” Harry says, suddenly in front of him. He reaches down and gently pries the shirt out of Niall’s hands. “Guess I owe you another load of laundry,” he finishes, tossing the shirt behind him and going to his knees so he’s at eye level.

Niall doesn’t even get a chance to look up all the way before Harry’s nosing at his cheek and finding his lips.

It’s slow. Soft, like Niall pictured in his head the night after they met, because he’s a masochist that way. There’s a flicker of tongue and Harry’s hand brushing his cheek and then he’s gone, the air cool and sudden on Niall’s spit slick lips.

“Have to pack cos my flight’s tomorrow morning. Got a secret show with Ed tonight, though, you should come,” Harry says, tangling his fingers in his hair again. He winces when they get stuck for a minute, and Niall digs his fingernails into his jeans, but the fabric’s too thick for him to get any purchase, and it’s not enough to distract him from Harry standing in front of him, or from the way Harry just kissed him.

“Not much of a secret if you’ve told me, is it?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. It’s quiet enough that Niall can hear Ed banging around in the kitchen, probably eating cold chinese takeaway and drinking coffee with too much milk and sugar like he always does. It’s revolting to even think about, but it works for a second, drags his mind away from Harry and what they did.

“I want you to come, so. Had to make sure you knew about it, Ed’s not always reliable like that.”

Harry’s voice is quiet and hesitant and Niall’s probably going to throw up. It’s too much, Harry soft and nervous in front of him. Niall can’t fathom a single reason that Harry would be nervous, but he’s twisting his hands and looking down at Niall and he doesn’t look sure like he usually does.

“Course I’ll be there. ’s like a roommate requirement. I’ve been to all of Ed’s shows. Wouldn’t miss it even if I wanted to,” Niall says finally, and he smiles up at Harry, and it feels fake and forced, but Harry smiles back at him, his mouth crooked so his dimple’s even more pronounced than usual, like he knows what it does to Niall.

“Okay,” Harry says, backing towards the door, still looking at Niall, “Okay, I’ll see you there. Prepare yourself.”

And then he’s gone, and they haven’t talked about it, and Niall’s alone and shirtless and wearing jeans that are distinctly uncomfortable at this point.

-

He feels halfway human again by the time he’s showered, and it’s enough to make him brave the kitchen.

Ed’s predictable. He’s got coffee in front of him and a mostly empty take out container. He looks a bit like he hates himself, and Niall’s never related to him more. He heads right for the coffee, takes a fast gulp and winces a little at how much it burns going down. It helps clear the fog from his head, and what he and Harry did last night starts to settle into his bones.

“Late night?”

Ed’s voice is teasing and there’s not much question in it. Niall braces himself before he turns around to face him, takes another big gulp of coffee so he doesn’t have to respond to anything right away.

Ed’s looking at him appraisingly, and Niall can’t tell if Harry said something to him or not. He wonders when he stopped being able to read Ed like he used to.

He shrugs.

“Not as bad as it has been,” he says, and tries to hide his face behind the coffee mug without being conspicuous about it.

“‘m happy for you, mate, Harry’s a solid guy,” Ed says, and Niall wants to replay those words over and over again in his head before they start to mean something, but also wants the floor to swallow him up.

His cheeks are burning and there’s no way Ed doesn’t notice, especially since he’s finished his take away and doesn’t have anything left to distract him.

“He’s all right,” is all Niall can force himself to say, and he hopes it comes off as joking, because of course Harry’s fucking great, that’s the whole problem. “‘m glad we have him,” he finishes, which probably doesn’t make anything better.

Ed laughs incredulously at that and tips back so he’s balancing precariously on the back two legs of the chair.

“Pretty sure it’s you that has him,” he says, and Niall just blinks, his tongue heavy and useless in his mouth. If he and Harry were anything other than a misguided, judgment impaired hook up, he’d know. He’s well versed in those things by now.

“Not really,” he says, and his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears.

“Mate,” Ed starts, and Niall waves him off.

“Gonna head to the library for a bit, finish my applications so I can relax over break.”

Ed lets the chair fall forward, and the legs slam to the floor. It’s loud in the very quiet kitchen, too early on Saturday morning.

“Niall, stop fucking putting this off like it’s nothing,” he says, and it’s more confrontational than Ed’s been in a few years, even if he’s still not really saying anything.

“Not putting anything off but another decade of school. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

He leaves before Ed can say anything else, high tails it to his room to get his backpack and retreat. Away from Ed pushing buttons he knows are off limits. Away from the way Harry looked at him this morning. The way he kissed him like—it was the start of something normal.

-

He has one outstanding recommendation. The application deadline isn’t for a few weeks, but it still sets Niall on edge, and he loses himself in going back and forth about whether to send a reminder or not. It’s probably not good that he’s trading one anxiety for another, but it’s easier to think about this. There’s plenty of uncertainty to it, sure, but it’s cut and dry at the same time. Do X to achieve Y, then Z. Harry’s amorphous. Soft and hard to read, and it makes Niall uneasy in that deep way that’s hard to shake.

The library’s cleared out at this point. Niall inhales deeply and he swears he can feel every molecule of dust coating the inside of his lungs. His stomach is churning, like he wants to fast forward to tonight, Harry up on stage making everyone fall in love with him, but also like he wants to fly back home and never come back. Never face any of this again. To give it up so he doesn’t have to deal with the loss when it comes.

-

It’s dark and smoky and crowded and feels safe, kind of. Niall can hide back by the bar, far enough from the stage that Harry and Ed definitely won’t be able to call him out during the set. Niall wouldn’t put it past Ed, doesn’t want to let himself think about what he and Harry might’ve talked about.

He does a shot of whiskey then settles in, clutching a Guinness. Alcohol as a crutch doesn’t usually work out well for him, but his stomach’s roiling and the pint is at least something he can hold on to, even if it doesn’t calm his nerves.

-

Ed’s good. Great, even, and Niall knows this intimately. He’s watched Ed perform hundreds of times. He even went up there with him once, freshman year when he was just buzzed enough that he could be convinced. It was heady and exhilarating and Niall threw up after and never did it again. The costs outweighed the benefits, and he’s just as happy standing back and watching and playing by himself on his own time.

Harry’s like liquid on stage. Ed’s sat on a stool just smirking at him, and it’s trippy, watching the two of them perform songs Niall’s seen Ed do over and over again, from Fleetwood to Oasis, but then everything slows down and they huddle up, Harry leaning in to whisper in Ed’s ear. Niall feels horribly, irrationally jealous. Harry’s dimple is deep and shadow before his hair falls from behind his ear and covers it.

He flops down at the edge of the stage, Ed behind him scanning the crowd. Niall knows it’s too dark for Ed to see him, but he hunches over all the same, tries to make himself smaller so he can get out of this unscathed.

Norah Jones isn’t what Niall expected to come out of Harry’s mouth. It makes him wonder for a second what’s on the mix CD Harry made him for his birthday, if it’s as unpredictable as him singing this song. It’s tucked away in his desk, buried under post it notes and the flash drive he paid too much for at the book store in a moment of desperation.

It doesn’t sound like the original, Harry’s voice grumbly and deep, Ed’s guitar slow in the background, but it works, even though it shouldn’t. Niall can’t look away. Harry’s face is all shadows, his legs kicking against the stage. He has terrible posture. Terrible posture and he hogs the bed and all the covers and takes up the space Niall’s spent the last few years carefully cultivating but Niall’s still in love with him.

It’s terrifying to even think, because Niall’s pretty sure everyone else in the bar is in love with him by the time he lets the last note ring out.

Don’t know why I didn’t come, I, don’t know why I didn’t come, Harry sings, and Niall leans back against the bar, blood buzzing under his skin, because he wants this—Harry—forever, whatever that means.

-

Everyone crowds the stage when they’re done. Ed’s a regular, so it’s not surprising, but it’s bad tonight, and Niall knows it’s because of Harry. He hangs back on purpose. Watches people ebb and flow around them, Harry’s smile never waning. Ed stands back, just grins from the corner and lets Harry have his due. Niall’s not sure how he does it, because all he wants is Harry to himself, his hands all over Niall, in some corner away from everyone else.

There’s an uncomfortable urgency in his gut. Niall feels desperate to snatch back what they had this morning. Sleepy soft body heat and Harry kneeling down and leaning forward to kiss him like Niall meant something to him.

He waits, and waits, and waits. He waits and fucks around on his phone, texts Louis one of the memes he’s been hoarding, blindly goes through the notes he’s accumulated, stray assignments and birthday card reminders that he let fall by the wayside.

When Niall looks up again he wishes he hadn’t, because Harry’s got his back against the wall and the skinny blonde girl from all those weeks ago plastered against his front. His eyes are squeezed shut and his arms are wrapped tight around her waist and Niall can see his smile from here. It’s a real one, a little too big for his face, the kind Niall likes best.

It’s not like they’re kissing, but Niall can’t look away from them, how their bodies are pressed together, and how they’re almost exactly the same height. The way Harry’s hands look huge and natural on her hips, like they’ve done this before.

It’s like getting doused with a bucket of cold water, the realization that he has no claim over Harry, over what, or who, he does. That they’re friends at best and work friends at worst, and Niall’s only seen tiny glimpses of his life. He can’t shake the bits he’s seen, though. The way his legs are too long for the couch and how he always drools in his sleep and never does the laundry like he promises. The constant coffee and wide smiles, looking at Niall like he’s the center of the universe when Niall feels like that’s Harry.

It’s sickening deja vu and Niall hates that he’s put himself in this position again. Fucking around with someone who’s at least half way in with someone else. Burning bridges he doesn’t even mean to with a kind of effortlessness that’s absent from everything else in his life.

He makes it outside before he throws up. He ducks into the alley next door and gags. The ground’s fucking nasty, but his knees feel like they’re on the verge of giving out, so he rests his palms against the wall of the building and winces at the burn of Guinness and whiskey on the way back up.

He’d run back to the apartment, but his knees are still wobbly. It’s finally cool out, though, and the air is sobering enough that Niall wishes he was drunk. He heads straight for the shower when he gets inside even though he took one earlier. His stomach lurches when he strips and he’ll never be able to stand in this shower and not think about Harry heavy and consuming in his lap.

The water’s hotter than he can stand, but it’s good. It gives him something to latch onto that isn’t Harry or how he’s fucked up again, ignored everything in his brain that was telling him it was too good to be true. It’s—he can’t even think of how he’s going to rearrange everything so he doesn’t have to see Harry anymore. Shampoo runs into his eyes and it burns and that’s too much, and Niall jerks himself out from under the spray. He stands just out of reach of it for a second and tries to wipe the shampoo from his eyes.

The long nights in the library started so long ago that Niall can barely remember the before. It’s like a fever dream almost, and he mentally slots all of his memories of Harry in alongside the blistering pace of freshman year, when he could still do things without spending days agonizing over them first.

He stays in the shower long enough that the water runs cold. That helps, in a way. It clears his head. Lets him start to compartmentalize everything. He has a week, he thinks, grabbing for his towel and scrubbing at his hair, a week of Harry being on a different continent, back home, where there are probably another hundred people in love with him.

Niall picks his clothes up off the floor and digs his phone out of his pocket on the way to his room. There’s a message from Harry, and it makes the bottom drop out of Niall’s stomach. He puts it carefully on his desk. Doesn’t open it, doesn’t read it, just starts methodically stripping his bed, because the last he wants is to fall asleep with the smell of Harry’s shampoo all over his pillow.

-

He doesn't let himself read it, just spends hours staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He hears Ed stumble in after a while, but it sounds like he’s alone. It makes sense. Niall knows Harry’s flying out tomorrow, but it still feels like the beginning of everything falling apart. Like Harry’s finished with him, or Niall’s just now seeing that Harry didn’t want much to do with him in the first place.

It’s hard to make himself believe that, even with the image of Harry in someone else’s arms still fresh in his brain. Hard to make himself believe that he made all of that up, Harry’s too big smiles and the way he brought him coffee and made sure he wasn’t studying too hard and the tattoo that’s going to be on Niall’s ankle forever.

His eyes are burning and if he cries, bites a sob into his pillow, no one will ever call him on it. Ed’s the only one around to hear it, anyway.

-

Niall’s up early the next morning, through the kitchen for coffee and out of the apartment before Ed can emerge from his hangover. He camps out on the third floor of the library, stares at his application essays until his eyes can’t focus anymore, then he puts his head down and lets the cool of the desk on his forehead lull him to sleep.

-

Ed’s home when he walks in, naturally. Ellie’s at the stove, and Niall feels like he’s walked in on something that’s not his to have.

“Where’d you go last night?” Ed asks immediately, eyes glued to his phone.

Niall forces a cough.

“Stomach didn’t feel right,” he says, and his voice is rough from disuse. “Sorry. Stayed till you were done, though. Sounded good.”

“Be nice,” Ellie warns from the stove without turning around. It smells like she’s making chicken noodle, and Niall’s stomach growls.

“‘m always nice, El, dunno what you’re on about,” Ed says, pushing back his chair and walking over to the cabinets to pull down three bowls.

“It’s soup night,” he says, waving at Niall to sit down. “In celebration of our last fall break together.”

The last thing Niall wants to do is sit through this. He wonders faintly if he could graduate a semester early, fuck the last of his classes. Just dip out at winter break and never come back or face any of them again. Go home to Ireland and work with his da.

“Don’t say you’re busy, Ni,” Ellie says, turning to face him. She’s still like a dream when he looks at her sometimes. The first girl who ever really laughed when he made a joke, which is a stupid fucking reason to ever be hung up on someone, he thinks, but it was the truth.

“Guess I can stay for a bowl, then,” Niall says, sitting down carefully in the wobbly chair.

He watches Ed and Ellie navigate each other seamlessly. He knows Ed can’t cook for shit, but he helps. Cleans up the messes Ellie leaves behind, gets the table set. It’s comfortable in a way that Niall’s never been able to achieve with someone.

The soup does smell great, even if his stomach is still on edge. It feels good going down, warms him from the inside out.

“How’re your applications coming?” Ellie asks after a minute, Ed slurping away at his soup.

“That’s gross, mate,” Niall says to Ed before he answers. “They’re all right, I guess. Dunno what’ll happen, but. Can’t do too much more at this point.”

“Columbia still your top choice?” Ed looks calculating when he asks it, and Niall braces himself. “Know Harry’s gonna be here for another year, at least, it’d be nice if you stuck around for a bit.”

Niall swallows down a burning mouthful of soup and follows it with a long drink of water. Ellie, to her credit, is blushing and rolling her eyes at Ed.

“You could not be more transparent if you tried, jesus Ed,” she says, reaching out to slap his arm.

“They finally sealed the deal, ‘m allowed to bring it up now, aren’t I?”

“We’re not—nothing’s sealed, christ,” Niall says, looking down at his almost empty bowl. He feels vaguely sick again.

“Not what I he—” Ellie must kick him under the table, because Ed cuts himself off and winces in pain.

“Thanks, El. Great soup.” He stands up quickly and almost knocks the chair to the floor. He can feel Ellie glaring at Ed even though he’s not looking at them, and he walks out without saying anything else. If he’s going to fuck it up, he might as well fuck it up all the way at this point.

He pulls the CD Harry made for his birthday out of his desk after he closes his bedroom door. He can listen to it once. It feels safe because Harry’s away, like he’s sneaking something illicit, even though Harry would probably just be disappointed that he hasn’t listened to it already.

The CD player he bought back in grade ten is at the bottom of his closet. He hasn’t used it yet this year, too caught up in all the soothing nature sounds playlists he uses to study. He drags it over to his bed and digs his headphones out of his backpack.

It feels weirdly built up at this point, like maybe he shouldn’t listen to it at all, especially now, but Niall’s not good at stopping himself from making shit decisions.

Norah Jones’ Don’t Know Why is the first track, of fucking course it is, and that’s what makes Niall pull his phone from where it’s burning in his back pocket and thumb open the text Harry sent the night before.

‘can’t believe you ditched me. i expect a full explanation when i get back next week .xx’

Niall stares at the screen until it fades to black. He’s not sure what he was expecting to get out of a random text from Harry. He’s gotten over a hundred of them since they exchanged numbers in August, and this one’s no different from any one he sent before. It’s easy and casual and vaguely self-centered, just like Harry.

He drops his phone onto the floor beside his bed and twists the volume up on the CD player. Frank Ocean follows Norah Jones, because Harry’s nothing if not eclectic, even if it’s half genuine, half for show.

It’s easy for Niall to let the hurt swallow him up. He lays on his back and imagines the mattress absorbing him until there’s nothing left, and he’s just existing inside of it. Letting people lay all over him, but it’s safe. He’s invisible. Can’t fuck up anymore, at least. It’s one of those horrible physical hurts, the kind he can feel swelling up inside his chest until it feels like he might explode. It’s worse, he decides, knowing how good it would’ve been with Harry.

He falls asleep with the headphones in his ears.

-

The week without Harry passes too quickly. Niall can’t remember a single thing he did, aside from quietly throwing away the mix CD.

Harry corners him in the library, naturally. It makes sense. Niall’d turned his phone off the day before Harry was supposed to come back, and Harry hadn’t come around the apartment. Ed was suspiciously absent, but Niall tries not to let himself wonder if they were congregating somewhere, because everything isn’t always about him, even if it feels that way in his head sometimes.

Niall’s engrossed in his sociology reading, headphones in, thunderstorm playlist halfway through, when Harry shows up. Niall smells coffee and looks up automatically, and if it were anyone else in front of him, it’d be funny, but it’s Harry, so it just makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Hey,” Harry says, and even him saying hi makes Niall think about kissing him again. Just dragging him into the bathroom, abandoning his post at the front desk and sucking another bruise into Harry’s neck, red and vivid and impossible to ignore.

“Hi,” Niall says, and fuck, his voice sounds awful even to his own ears. Formal and awkward and Harry furrows his brow like he notices.

“Can’t believe you ducked out on me like that and I’m still bringing you coffee,” he says with a small smirk, and it hits all of Niall’s guilty spots, even if Harry doesn’t have malicious intentions.

“Think I got a stomach bug, sorry,” Niall says after a second. Harry sets the coffee on the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“What’d you think,” Harry says, resting his elbows on the counter, like he’s getting ready to settle in, and that’s the very last thing Niall wants right now. A reminder of the things he can’t have. Things he’s already had and shouldn’t’ve, if the way that girl’s arms were wrapped around Harry was any indication.

“You were great,” Niall says baldly, because it’s true, and saying anything else would give him away entirely.

“Was dead nervous,” Harry says, picking at his cuticles. Niall fights back the urge to reach out and calm his hands. “Threw up in the toilet before we went on.”

“It was a great show,” Niall repeats, looking down at his textbook again. He can hear Harry drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, and that’s his we’re about to have a serious conversation tone, Niall knows it, because even if he hasn’t heard it from Harry before, he’s heard it a million times from too many different people.

“Niall,” he says, when Niall doesn’t look up. “Would you look at me?”

Niall gives himself a second to squeeze his eyes shut and exist in the last few moments before he has to face the look of sympathy that’s going to be written all over Harry’s face.

“Sure,” Niall says, and when he looks up, Harry’s biting down on his bottom lip so hard Niall’s afraid he’s going to break the skin.

“Niall,” he says again, and Niall can’t do this. Not ever, but especially not here, in a public space.

“Feel like we should talk a bit,” Harry says, when Niall doesn’t respond. He can feel the cold sweat starting to bead at his forehead.

Harry looks nervous when Niall forces himself to look up, and it makes sense. Harry’s a good person. Nice, doesn’t like letting people down. Niall hasn’t known him that long but he knows that.

“‘S all right,” Niall says, voice low. He looks down at his books again, but they might as well be written in another language. He knows he’s not going to be able to get anything else done tonight.

“Is it though? Cos it feels like you’re avoiding me. I know you’re busy but it’s--it feels different?”

The words are swimming on the page in front of Niall. He’s not going to cry about this, not here or anywhere else, but he doesn’t understand why Harry has to drag it out like this.

“I am busy,” he says, because anything else would push them into territory Niall doesn’t want to touch. “And you’ve got lots of friends, Harry, I’ve seen them.”

He looks up at Harry again when he says it, like if he has to see the look on Harry’s face, that’ll be what tells him it’s over, that he can’t have it. That they’re done.

Harry’s looking at him like they’re having two different conversations. He looks too hurt for someone who’s standing there dragging out breaking Niall’s heart. Niall blinks slowly and lets his eyes travel over Harry’s face, because he knows he’ll tuck away the memory of it, parcel it out when he fucks up in the future and wants to twist the knife a little deeper.

“You’re my best friend, fuck, haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Harry’s voice is a shade too loud for the library, and Niall feels his stomach start to revolt. He’s never heard Harry angry before, didn’t really think he had it in him, and it’s startling and Niall’s fight or flight response has never been more heavily weighted towards flight.

“All right, I gotta--toilet, sorry,” Niall grits out, and he’s not supposed to leave the desk when he’s working alone, but he doesn’t want to vomit all over his keyboard, so he runs.

He slams the bathroom door behind him, leans up against it and tries to fight down the nausea. It doesn’t work, and Niall barely makes it into a stall before he’s throwing up the yogurt he had for lunch. The floor’s disgusting but he sinks down to his knees anyway, forehead sweaty and hands shaking. He spits in the toilet and tries not to breathe in too deeply.

There’s a traitorous part of him, bigger than he wants to admit, that wants Harry to come running after him, to push his hair off his forehead and hug him so tightly that it knocks the wind out of him. Harry doesn’t, though. Niall can’t blame him for that, he thinks, standing up, legs still shaky.

He rinses his mouth out at the sink, but it doesn’t help much. He winces looking at his reflection. His eyes are red rimmed and he needs to shave, stubble shadowing his jaw. He lets the sink run for a minute and tries to lose himself in the noise. It’s uncomfortable to think about how many things in his life Harry’s inadvertently tainted. Niall’s favorite coffee mug. His bed. Dimples and too loud laughter. Even bananas. Niall wonders if he’ll be able to cut out all of those things, or if Harry’s going to follow him around that way for the foreseeable future.

Harry’s gone when he walks back out. It’s not like Niall expected him to stay, but it still feels like pressing a bruise when all he sees is the empty desk. Harry’s left the coffee for him, but Niall can’t make himself drink it. He doesn’t get anything done, just stares out at the mostly empty library and tries not to think about all the bridges he’s managed to burn.

-

Ed’s asleep on the couch, his guitar on the floor when Niall gets home. It’s mostly dark, only the light over the sink in the kitchen on. Niall closes the door quietly behind him.

“Haz?” Ed mumbles, and Niall’s pulse speeds up.

“No,” Niall whispers, his voice flat. He slips past the couch, and hopes that Ed’ll drift back to sleep.

“Dunno why you’re doing his head in like this,” Ed says, once Niall’s reached the relative safety of the kitchen. At least he doesn’t have to look Ed in the face from here.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,” Niall says, because he doesn’t. He can’t imagine a world in which he’d be able to do that to someone like Harry. Harry’s the one doing Niall’s head in, after all. Niall’s had Saturday night on loop, Harry’s wide smile and his arms tight around her. They fit. Even Niall could see that, looking in from the outside. He’s had enough practice with that at this point.

“Nialler,” Ed says from the couch. “You gotta stop with this shite, mate. People want to be around you, yeah? Harry wants to be around you, or he wouldn’t’ve kissed you.”

Niall can feel his face burning, because it always sounds so fucking stupid when someone says it out loud. It’s rational in his head, and it’s easy to pull back slowly, incrementally, so no one even realizes what he’s doing until he’s gone. It sounds selfish coming out of Ed’s mouth, even though Niall knows --hopes--he doesn’t mean it that way.

He turns around slowly. Ed’s sitting up now, hair sticking up in all directions, staring him down from across the room.

“Jesus, Niall, don’t look at me like that. No one’s fucking died, all right?”

Niall doesn’t want to know what his face looks like. He’s not sure how’s looking at Ed, he’s trying so hard to keep it blank. He used to be good at it, but Harry wiggled his way in and made him feel soft and comfortable and Niall gave it all away on his face.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, and he sounds awful, and he wishes the floor would just swallow him up, that he’d never met Ed or fallen into bed with Ellie and ended up here.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for! Fuck, Niall, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve spent the last three years walking on eggshells, but everyone’s let it go but you. We all want you here. You’d know if we didn’t.”

It’s probably fucked up that this is the first time he and Ed have ever brought up what happened. Niall feels more embarrassed than relieved, and like he’s having an out of body experience, like this is happening to someone else, and he’s just looking on from the sidelines, cheeks burning. He doesn’t know what to say, after all this time. He’s had a million chances to bring it up over the past three years, but it was easier to bury it, to do his penance and bide his time.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, because there’s not much else he can say, and he feels like it’s not enough. Sorry I can’t get out of my own head, he wants to say, sorry I’m not good at being around you anymore, sorry I don’t know how to fix it.

“Don’t fucking--c’mere,” Ed says, swinging his legs up and over the back of the couch ungracefully. He covers the short distance between them quickly and pulls Niall into a hug so tight he can’t breathe.

It feels like someone’s taken Niall out at the knees. It’s the hug he wanted from Harry a few hours ago and didn’t get, and he blinks past the hot prickle of tears in his eyes.

“I was 18 and stupid and I’m sorry,” Ed says into his neck, and Niall sags against him a bit.

It feels almost too intimate now, like he’s failed somehow, and dragged everyone around him into his own head.

“‘m sorry for carrying it on for so long,” Niall says into Ed’s t-shirt. He smells faintly of cigarettes, like he’s been hanging out with Louis, but also like clean laundry and home.

“We like you just a bit,” Ed says, pulling back. “And Harry likes you more than a bit, all right.”

Niall stuffs his hands in his pockets, because it doesn’t undo what he saw, and Ed’s hug doesn’t make it easier to talk about.

“I just--saw him, you know. With someone? And like, I get blinded sometimes, you know, so.”

Ed rolls his head back and stares up at the ceiling.

“Jesus, Niall, Harry’s not--Taylor helped organize the thing, and she congratulated him after. He was puking in the the toilet and she walked in on him, it’s not a thing. Maybe in your head, but like. Definitely not a thing.”

Niall’s stomach twists like it’s not sure if he should hate himself or let himself hope. He grimaces and Ed shoves past him to get to the fridge.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he says, and Niall’s well and truly already done that, he knows. He’s just not good at the fixing it part.

-

He nearly falls asleep standing up in the in the shower. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, the water pressing down all over and making it hurt. He’s shaky when he gets out. Can’t quite wrap his head around what Ed’s said, and he doesn’t want to let himself off the hook or believe that it’s true, even if he knows there’s no logical reason for Ed to lie about it.

It takes all of his energy to climb into bed. Niall flattens himself out on the mattress, still waiting for it to just absorb him. Like if he stretches out enough, he’ll become one with it.

-

It’s still dark when he wakes up, someone breathing deep and even on his neck. Niall knows it’s Harry even in the dark, his body soft and overwhelming and radiating heat and clinging to Niall like it’s where he belongs. He tries to make himself relax, doesn’t want Harry to feel how tense he is, but he doesn’t know how to do this anymore. All he can focus on is the way Harry’s breath hits the back of his neck, slow and even and so hot that Niall feels like he’s going to sweat right out of his skin.

He blinks in the dark and shifts a little against the mattress, seeking out a cool corner with his toes. Harry doesn’t move. It’s been so long since Niall shared a bed with someone he kissed. Fell asleep next to them. It was probably Ellie, and that’s the last thing Niall wants to think about right now.

“Can’t sleep without you here,” Harry breathes against his skin, voice creaky and tired.

Niall tries to smooth the nervous jump his shoulders make by rolling onto his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to even out his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the wall. It’s easier than looking at Harry. Anything is easier than looking at Harry, really. Harry, who’s warm and consuming and tries to make everything easy.

“Talked to Ed a bit,” he says, dragging his lips against the back of Niall’s neck. He starts kissing him, making his way down Niall’s spine, pulling the covers up and away from Niall’s skin with a rush of cold air. Harry’s lips feel too hot in comparison, and Niall shudders against the mattress, digs his fingernails deep into his palms.

“Sorry,” he whispers into his pillowcase when Harry reaches the base of his spine. He feels Harry rest his head against his lower back for a minute, breathing hotly against his skin.

“Niall,” Harry breathes, then he’s moving up, up, flipping Niall over so they’re pressed chest to chest, Harry looming over him, shadowy in the dark and impossible to look away from. He’s got a bit of stubble on his upper lip and a spot on his forehead and he’s still the best thing Niall’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers before he leans down to kiss him. Niall keens into hit, can’t help himself. Half of his brain is screaming at him to run, but it feels too good, Harry shifting his hips against Niall’s and kissing him deep and slick.

Harry pulls back after a minute, and Niall bites at the swell of his own bottom lip, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look Harry in the face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt about you,” Harry says, and it’s the kind of bald faced honesty Niall can’t muster. “I thought--thought you knew, but that’s not fair,” he finishes, dropping his head to press a kiss against Niall’s neck.

“I have trouble sometimes,” Niall says, eyes still closed so he can pretend Harry’s not pressed all against him, that he’s not laying himself out there in the dark like this.

“Look at me,” Harry whispers against his lips, and Niall exhales sharply before he opens his eyes.

Harry’s blurry, his face too close for Niall to make out with any kind of clarity. Harry leans forward and kisses him again swipes his tongue against Niall’s before he pulls back, closing his own eyes for a second.

“You’re all right,” he says. “Ed was like--he clued me in on some stuff. Wish you’d’ve just told me, though.”

Niall pulls Harry down, kisses him deep and slow, arches his hips against Harry’s, like if he kisses him long enough Harry’ll know all of his secrets and Niall will never have to tell him.

“I know,” Niall pulls back long enough to whisper, and Harry brushes the hair off his forehead with the kind of intimacy Niall usually runs from.

“You can tell me whatever,” Harry says. “When you’re ready. You can tell me.”

-

Harry’s hanging half of the bed when Niall wakes up. He’s taken the covers with him, and Niall has goosebumps all over his skin. He waits Harry out. He’s not sure how long he lays there, hand pressed to his chest, but eventually Harry rolls back over with a groan.

His hair’s all over the place, curls wild, and Niall feels the sharp stab of want in his belly. Harry blinks at him, sleepy and even slower than usual before he pulls Niall in, rolls him over so he’s pressing Harry into the mattress.

It’s weird, looking down at Harry like this. It makes Niall feel off balance.

“Hi,” he says, and Harry grins up at him, dimple deeping in his cheek.

“Hiii,” Harry says back pulling him down to kiss him. It’s a bit gross, and Niall feels self conscious about his morning breath, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, just kisses him until they’re both half hard and rocking against each other gently.

“We should talk. When you’re ready, but. We should,” Harry says, scratchy with sleep, rubbing at his bottom lip. “I like you a bit,” he finishes, looking like he’s trying to bite back a smile.

“Yeah,” Niall breathes through the clench of nerves. “I uh. I like you a bit, too. In case there were any doubts.”

Harry breaks out in a grin and it’s blinding.

-

It’s not gone. The weight’s still there, heavy on Niall’s shoulders and in the pit of his stomach. There’s a shaky kind of hope, though. Like everything he thought was burned and gone is still standing. He inhales deep, lets the familiar smell of Starbucks fill his lungs, then motions for Louis to go out ahead of him.

Louis lights a cigarette once they’re outside and Niall rolls his eyes at him.

“Thought El said you were quitting,” he says, and Louis grimaces.

“I’m taking baby steps, yeah? Just like me and her are,” Louis says kicking at the sidewalk and starting to walk.

It still makes him feel small, all of it. The way strangers bump into him without apologizing, how he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him next year, how Harry still feels new and terrifying.

Louis bumps his shoulder and blows a breath of smoke in his face, making him cough.

“Stop getting lost in there,” he says, and it’s observant, especially for Louis, but Niall’ll take it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
